


A Handful of Snakes

by WelcomeToTheFrogParade



Series: The Alchemist Chronicle [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Drama & Romance, Drarry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fantasy, Fluff, M/M, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 68,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24187228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelcomeToTheFrogParade/pseuds/WelcomeToTheFrogParade
Summary: Three years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter is starting his second year at the Darthorn College for Advanced Magical Craft.Ron and Harry have managed to get into the famously rigorous Auror training (AT) programme, and though times have been hard for him after the war, Harry is ecstatic to be back. Not even finding out that he has class with Draco Malfoy for a whole term could meddle with his drive now. Or could it? What has that guy been up to lately, anyway? Not that Harry cares, of course, but... does he?This work is my Drarry canon - it explores in depth the character arch that Draco truly deserved. Harry, whose traumatic upbringing often goes ignored, also receives a more humane treatment from an author point of view. A sequel is in the planning stages.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: The Alchemist Chronicle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038294
Comments: 126
Kudos: 295





	1. A Visitor in the Dorms

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a fanfiction based on the characters and events of the Harry Potter series created by J.K.Rowling.  
> It is mostly according to the currently available canon of the Harry Potter universe (excluding certain historical details about wizard hygiene that never should have never seen the light of day). With that being said, Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin are also still alive in this work. As they should be.

Mr. and Mrs.Weasley were proud to say that they were not only the parents of the famous Weasley twins of Diagon Alley, but also of a daughter playing chaser for the Holyhead Harpies and a son in the Auror training programme at Darthorn College, thank you very much. They had never been so proud of Ron, and the young man was regurarly reminded of this by little baskets of muffins and scones that his poor owl valiantly delivered to the dormitory every Monday. The basket always came with a note that contained some variation of the following: your father and I are so proud, send hugs to Hermione and Harry, aunt/cousin/father's colleague so and so asked about you and was absolutely thrilled to hear about the programme, don't you dare eat all of these yourself, please write to us soon, your father and I are so proud. 

Usually Ron practically inhaled the basket's contents just to avoid dealing with the letter. Only Harry and Hermione knew that he had barely made it through the previous year and occasionally thought of dropping out. Still, at the beginning of each term he decided to do better and this one was no different. Despite already knowing that his best friend's newfound motivation would only last so long, Harry was happy that Ron was there with him as they unpacked what little belongings they had brought with them to the dormitories. 

Much like the two previous years, Harry had spent the summer with Remus, Tonks and their son (and Harry's godson) Teddy, who was now three years old. To his parents' great relief, Teddy hadn't inherited his father's lycanthropy. He had, however, turned out to be a metamorphmagus like his mother. This trait had presented itself for the first time on a hot August day, only a few weeks before Harry was to travel back to Darthorn.

Harry had been playing with Teddy in Remus and Tonks' garden - despite Harry's offer the couple had refused to live at Grimmauld Place and had instead acquired a frankly dreamy little farmhouse in the countryside - when the toddler's hair had suddenly changed colours. Harry's first reaction had been to panic. He had picked the boy up from the swing that Tonks had charmed into place under a tree the previous summer, and ran back to the house, terrified that he had somehow accidentally transfigured Teddy's hair from its previous ginger tone to this coal colour that perfectly matched his own. It wasn't Remus' reaction that Harry was worried about. The man was a patient and calm father who rarely raised his voice. Tonks, although still as cheerful and curious as ever, was also fiercely protective of her son, and while Harry was considered a part of the family, he didn't like the idea of having to be the one to tell her that he accidentally jinxed her toddler. However, to Harry's surprise, Tonks had been moved to tears when she had seen her son's changed appearance. Harry had realized what was happening only when the boy's hair had turned back into its original colour as he had ran into his mother's embrace. 

"You're Teddy's favourite godfather, so it's no wonder he wanted to match you," Tonks had said. 

"And where do you keep these other godfathers?" Harry had said, and they both had laughed. Harry wanted to be the best godfather there ever was. Just like his own had been.

Harry came to from his thoughts when he heard distant laughter. The boys' dormitories were small, shared flats, each equipped with a small kitchen and living area, and a room for each student, snug but big enough to almost comfortably fit a single bed and a writing desk. Although the walls of the bedrooms were almost as thin as the curtains of the beds in Hogwarts, Harry was grateful for the added privacy. 

Ron knocked on his door. Harry knew it was Ron because Ron's knock was more ceremonial than of any real purpose. As soon as he had knocked once, he opened the door without hesitation and threw himself onto Harry's bed or wherever Harry himself wasn't sitting. Something was different this time. Ron stared at Harry with a face that Harry had seen only once before, when the jinx that was intended for Malfoy had made Ron eat slugs. 

"I don't look that bad, do I?" Harry said and gladly abandoned the chore of folding his clothes that he had, as usual, stuffed into his trunk only when he had already been a little late for the train. "I know I need a haircut."

"Harry," Ron said somehow under his breath but also with an unusually high-pitched voice, "I saw... Seamus Finnigan is here." 

"Oh?" Harry said, raising his brows. "I should go say hi then."

Seamus Finnigan didn't study at Darthorn - he had recently gone to work with the Weasley twins on product development for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Something to do with fireworks, if Harry remembered correctly. Either way, it made sense that he would have come to visit - after all, Paddington wasn't too far away from Diagon Alley and several of his friends, including Dean Thomas, Neville, Ron and Harry all lived in the same dormitory. 

"No- no, you can't," Ron said, blocking Harry's way as he tried to reach the door. 

"Why not? And why are we whispering?" 

"Because- Because Seamus was snogging Dean in the living room when I walked in."

Harry laughed a little in disbelief. Ron didn't.

"Well, that's - that's a surprise, isn't it?"

"You don't bloody say!" Ron hissed, still trying to keep his voice down. "We've known them all this time and - do you reckon they were already - you know, at Hogwarts?"

"What, you mean sneaking out to give each other handjobs in broom closets?" Harry said, grinning. He was more amused by Ron's reaction than the situation itself. In fact, he had suspected Dean was gay during their last couple years at Hogwarts but he had never paid much attention to the matter with the whole, saving the wizarding world business going on. 

Ron turned increasingly red at Harry's remark. "Gross," he said, making the slug face again. "They were in our dorm and everything..." 

Harry wasn't sure why, but what he had initially found amusing about Ron's reaction now started to annoy him a little. Wasn't this a little too dramatic?

"Well, since they weren't snogging in Dean's room, I don't think it's a secret at this point," Harry said and pushed past Ron to get to the door. "I'm going to say hi to them."

It turned out Seamus was going to join Dean in his Visual Charms lectures for a few weeks.

"I've got the explosive part covered," Seamus explained, leaning forward on the couch, his left hand nonchalantly resting on Dean's thigh, "but Fred said the visuals could use some work. So, since I happen to know an artist," and now Seamus' hand patted where it had previously rested, "I thought I'd give the course a try."

Seamus was the same as before, Harry noticed, despite the recent - or not so recent, who knew - development of events. He was still the same, cheerful guy with a charming accent.

"You mean you're hoping my talent will rub off on you," Dean said. Although it made both Seamus and him smile, it was an unfortunate choice of words considering Ron had just decided to face his prejudices and walk back into the living room. An odd sound escaped his throat, and he caughed awkwardly in an effort to cover it up. 

"So, how long have you two been going out?" Harry asked, making effort to sound casual and also to ignore what had just happened. 

"Ah, you noticed," Seamus said and patted on Dean's thigh again, "you should've seen Ron's face when he found out a few minutes ago!" Seamus laughed. 

"Oh, I did," Harry said and threw a quick glance at Ron, who was still standing there in the awkward way lanky, tall boys stand when they are trying to appear small. "You gave him quite the fright."

"No they didn't," Ron blurted. "I mean, I was surprised alright. You'd be bloody surprised too if you walked in on Harry and I doing - doing that..."

"I would, yes," Dean said, "but mostly because you're straight." 

"You can tell?" Ron had an oddly relieved look in his face. "Is it how I dress?"

"I guess you do have that Quidditch and beer straight guy look," Dean said, "but no, I can tell because you've been with Hermione for three years. That would be a long time to pretend to like boobs." 

Harry laughed with the others. He felt a small sigh of relief escape him when he realized a few minutes later that Ron and Seamus were already in a debate over which team was going to win the big game next week. Nothing had changed after all. Well, Dean's arm was wrapped around Seamus' shoulder. But nothing else. Looking at them, Harry felt a strange pinch of melancholia in his chest. He figured he was hungry and went to make himself a sandwich. 

Later that night Harry was overseeing the dishes as they washed themselves. Darthorn, much to the horror of some parents, didn't have house elves. Instead each dorm had to divide chores within its inhabitants, and that included cooking and cleaning. In addition to that, the 200 students were also in charge of keeping the classrooms and hallways clean. The task rotated between dorms weekly so that on average, each dorm would have to clean the school about once a year. Even with five people who all used magic, the job was still pretty daunting. Neville had accidentally created a flood in the owlery the previous year, causing little rodent skeletons, feathers and owl droppings to pour into the courtyard. Harry already dreaded their next turn. 

As if on cue, Neville, or at least Harry assumed it was Neville who was carrying a large, potted plant that looked like it had a green head of hair instead of leaves, almost tripped on the doorstep. Harry took a few steps in an attempt to catch the plant, were it to fall, but somehow Neville managed to keep his balance.

"Hi, Harry," he said. "Oh- don't close the door yet." Neville put down the plant and Harry watched as he spoke to the empty doorway.

"Come on," Neville said. "It's just Harry. No need to be afraid." 

Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been dozens of ceramic pots with little legs and feet, all filled with soil and plants Harry didn't recognize. They followed Neville into the dorm in a neat queue, marching like a little parade of plants, and when Neville opened the door into his room, they all went in. Neville closed the door after them and Harry didn't even bother to ask how Neville had room to sleep with all those plants in his room. He probably didn't.

"They're tired after the trip," Neville said, wiping sweat from his forehead. 

"Yeah. It would be so much easier to just apparate," Harry said. 

"I wouldn't do that even if it was allowed", Neville said and went to get a glass of water. "The seedlings don't take very well to all that pressure. I'll have to go water them soon before the mandrake starts a riot."

Harry laughed. He had missed Neville, he now realized.

"How was your summer?"

"Well, I did that internship at Cuddlebogs Conservatory," Neville said, and having finished drinking, leaned onto the kitchen counter. He looked the same as last year - tall, gentle and slightly unkempt. "I saw Luna a couple of times... Not much happened, to be honest."

Harry pressed his lips together and formed a somewhat apologetic smile. He couldn't help doing so every time Neville talked about Luna. The two had been a couple for a year and a half until Luna had broken up with him the previous winter. They had still remained friends, which was probably for the best but even so, Harry felt sorry for Neville. Luna had the tendency to remain oblivious to other peoples' emotions in situations like that, and while she had continued the friendship as effortessly as ever, it clearly wasn't as easy for Neville. 

"How is she?" 

"You didn't hear? She dropped out."

"What?" Harry felt worried all of a sudden. That didn't sound like Luna at all. "Out of Magizoology? Why? I mean, she's so good at it."

Neville was quiet for a while. Apparently something very distracting was going on where his feet were. 

"Do you know Rolf?" He finally said.

"Rolf Scamander? Yeah, didn't he graduate last Spring?"

"Kind of. He's now writing his thesis on Magizoology - apparently planning a trip to some rainforest in Africa to research a rare type of Flobberworm... Can't remember what they were called- well, anyway, Luna is going with him. To Africa."

"But isn't she-"

Neville raised his eyes from the floor to meet Harry's. He looked tired.

"Oh," Harry said. So Luna and Rolf were a couple. He could almost see Luna blabbering about him excitedly to Neville, who bravely nodded and asked questions. He was a Gryffindor, after all. 

"Yeah. So... I guess I'll try to make some new friends this year," Neville said and shrugged. Harry watched as he went into his room, walking as if he was scared to make a lot of noise. 

"She dropped out?" Hermione said through a mouthful of toast. She had come to have breakfast with the boys to celebrate the beginning of a new term, knowing that they wouldn't have time to do that when things would catch up to speed with classes.

"For Rolf Scamander? To go to Africa with him instead of finishing college?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"But why? What if they break up, what then?" Hermione huffed.

"Let's hope they don't break up, I guess," Harry said and swallowed a sip of tea. It was too hot, but there wasn't time to let it cool down. He added a little more milk.

"Yep," Ron said, chomping down big spoonfuls of colourful cereal.

"But it's so- doesn't she ever think about the future? What if they do break up, will she just go to write for the Quibbler instead of doing what she loves?" 

"Maybe she really loves Scamander," Harry said and rubbed the part of his nose that his glasses were always pressing on. He didn't really know why Hermione was so heated about Luna dropping out. It wasn't like the two had been best friends.

"But still," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I don't know how someone can just depend on a man like that."

Harry and Ron ate in silence for a moment. Hermione started to eye the Daily Prophet that was laid out on the table.

Then Ron stretched and said, looking smug: " 'Mione, guess what?"

"Hm?" 

"Dean and Seamus are a couple. Like, a gay couple."

"Oh, I know," Hermione said and flipped the newspaper over.

"What? How?"

"Dean told me in the summer."

"You saw Dean Thomas in the summer?"

"He mentioned it in his letter."

"You write letters to Dean?" 

Hermione looked up from the newspaper and raised her other eyebrow in a way that made Harry quickly gulp down the rest of his tea, get up and go to his room. He could still hear the rest of the conversation.

"Am I not supposed to write letters to my friends?"

"That's not what I - I just didn't know Dean was your friend."

"We had Magic in Context together last year."

"Okay."

"I told you about it. About the presentation I did with Dean."

"Okay, just - drop it, alright? I didn't remember."

"Maybe you didn't listen." 

On that particular morning Harry felt relieved that Ron had to retake a charms class from the first year, leaving Harry alone in Treating Magical Injury. Not that there was anything wrong with Ron, but he did have a nasty habit of complaining. All the time. Harry wondered if he had always been like that. Then again, Harry hadn't been exactly fascinated by studying in Hogwarts either. But things were different now. Harry got to study the very anatomy of dangerous magic and how to deal with it, and so far he had loved every minute of it. He wondered if Hermione had felt like that about classes at Hogwarts. 

Having skimmed through the reading material, Harry knew the class would be about what muggles would've called first aid. It was the sort of thing Aurors ought to know about since they were essentially both the police and the military of the wizarding world. They handled magical crime either as it happened or were the first to see the aftermath. Either way, more often than not someone on site had a broken rib or a nose on the wrong side of the face. Treating that sort of thing wrong (think Lockhart when Harry had broken his arm) would get the Ministry in a lot of hot water, not to even mention the paperwork. 

Harry found the classroom, and as he sat down he realized he had arrived just in time. The professor limped in and started talking. It was professor Skepperus, who Harry knew taught the students who were studying to become healers and would eventually end up working at places like St Mungo. Skepperus was short and reminded Harry of Professor Flipwick, except Skepperus looked about as old as Harry had imagined Nicholas Flamel to look. His voice was hoarse and thin, and students were leaning forward in their chairs to better hear what he was trying to say.

He didn't have time to say much, though, before one last student entered the classroom.

It was Draco Malfoy. 

Harry felt his insides curl up a little bit. He hadn't expected to see Malfoy here. And he hadn't expected him to look so different. Harry remembered him always looking put together at Hogwarts, never mind the pasty, anxious complexion and the bags that had appeared under his eyes around year seven. Now he looked well rested - in fact, it was as if he had rolled out of bed no longer than fifteen minutes ago. His hair was messy, he wasn't wearing the tie that was a part of the Darthorn uniform, and besides, he was late. He carried a shoulder bag that looked like crumpled up papers were going to pour out at any second. It didn't seem like him at all. 

"Ah, Draco," the professor said and nodded as Malfoy walked past him. "Ehm, yes, as I was saying..."

Harry watched as Malfoy sat down next to him, the only place available. Malfoy looked different even up close. Not as ghostly and pale anymore, somehow less... More handsome? Maybe it was that he was a couple years older now.

"What are you looking at, Potter?" Malfoy said without taking his eyes off the front of the classroom. He spit out the 'P' in Harry's name in an all too familiar way. 

"I thought you were in the alchemy programme."

"Yeah, and?"

"Why are you here?"

"Sometimes potions go wrong," Malfoy said, now turning to look at Harry. "You would know something about that. You never were good at potions, were you?"

Gray eyes. Cocky expression.

The image of Seamus' hand on Dean's thigh returned to Harry's mind. He frowned. 

"I did make Felix Felicis, though."

"Did you now," Malfoy huffed, slurring his words lazily. "I always reckoned you cheated. But you'd never do that, would you? Saint Potter..."

"We're on the same side now, Malfoy." 

"And yet you still say my name like that. Malfoy," the blonde said, stretching the vowels, mocking Harry. "The boy who spoke the name of you-know-who can't say 'Malfoy' without making it sound like a bad word."

"I couldn't have come up with a longer way to ask someone to call me by my first name if I had tried." 

"Don't."

"Don't what? Call you Draco?"

"And now what? I call you Harry and we braid each other's hair? Fuck off." 

"Okay, Draco," Harry said and looked at professor Skepperus. He knew from the burning in his left cheek that Malfoy was still leering at him.

"Ever heard of a haircut, Potter?"

Harry felt an unknown jerk in his gut. 

He then realized he was smiling at Malfoy. 


	2. The Giraffe in the Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville's friends try to cheer him up. Harry learns of the nicknames Dean and Seamus have for each other and finds himself in an odd situation with Draco Malfoy.

It had started to rain when Harry began making his way back to the dorms. He passed through the courtyard like he often did, in an attempt to get some fresh air before losing himself in piles of assignments and reading. There was a smell of wet asphalt and autumn in the air. 

Harry stopped and just stood there for a while, staring at orange leaves that had been plastered against the pavement by neverending showers of water and wind. Although he was already looking forward to getting started on homework, he felt a little absent-minded. He thought about the spare bedroom in Remus and Tonks' house, and the comforting noise that came to be when raindrops pounded against its window. The wallpaper had a wolfsbane pattern. Harry wondered where he would sleep if Remus and Tonks had another baby. Maybe he would just visit and spend the nights at Grimmauld Place? 

"Harry?" 

"Hm?" 

Harry didn't know how long Neville had been stading there, but nevertheless was glad to see him. The previous evening's conversation had made him a little worried for him.

"Are you alright?" Neville asked. He was holding one of his ceramic pots, its little feet dangling in the air. Judging by the state of Neville's hands he had once again been digging for soil in the courtyard. 

"A little homesick," Harry admitted. "You going back to the dorm?"

Neville nodded, and they started walking together.

"Neville-about last night-"

"Did the mandrake keep you awake? I tried everything, but it just wouldn't-"

"What? No, I meant... You know that I'm your friend, right?"

Harry held the door open for Neville as they entered the narrow, spiralling staircase that was occasionally interrupted by a small landing, each of them decorated with a portrait that was actually a door to the dormitories. Their footsteps echoed.

"Yeah, I know," Neville said. "Why?"

"I just wanted to say... I'm sorry about Luna going to Africa with Rolf," Harry said. He was starting to be slightly out of breath. "I know you're upset about it, and it's okay. But you're not alone just because she left." 

They stopped at the sixth landing where a portrait of an animagus was hanging, its head motif more often than not in his animal form as a lanky giraffe that looked as if it was made up of nothing but neck and clattering joints. 

"I swear they keep moving the dorms up a level without telling us," Neville said, panting and holding onto the handrail for support. 

"Maybe we're just getting old," Harry said, pulling back wisps of black hair that had glued themselves onto his forehead. "Do you by any chance remember the new password?"

"Ah, hold this," Neville said, handing Harry the pot and started to rummage through his rucksack. After reaching his arm to the very bottom of the bag, dusted with fine layers of pencil shavings, he pulled out a wrinkly piece of parchment. "I always write it down... Shit, this is last year's." Neville sighed. "Where were you when I needed you?" 

He stuffed the note into the pocket of his uniform trousers (loosely fitting, coffee-colouded corduroy with lots of pockets for the herbology majors) and kept looking. The giraffe Dean had affectionately named Larry stared at the two boys patiently. Finally Neville pulled out another piece of paper, this time considerably less tea-stained than the last. 

" _Tiger-striped doorknobs,_ " he read aloud. The door swung open, letting out a familiar creak. 

Harry handed the pot back to Neville as it had started kicking his forearm impatiently. 

"Thanks," Neville said and was about to go in as he turned back around to look at Harry. "And... thanks."

Some hours later Harry was sitting at his desk, crouching over papers and books in a position that would have made dollar signs appear in a chiropractor's eyes. Harry was struggling to remember all the incidents in which he had been injured somehow. Professor Skepperus had given them an assignment to list all the magical injuries they had suffered and using the course material, research how they should have been treated. In addition to the broken arm incident in year two (and the sentence "not _Brackium Emendo_ " scribbled next to it), Harry hadn't come up with much yet. He wasn't sure where to draw the line - did his scar count as an injury? It wasn't as if there was a protocol on how to treat people who had survived the killing curse. And what about all the times he had passed out? Should he list them all individually?

Eventually he decided to just write "passed out" and find the appropriate treatment. He was flipping through pages of his course material (a thick, black book that almost resembled the Bible in its compact shape and thin pages) when the word "amortentia" flashed briefly in his eyesight. He flipped back a couple of pages and found a chapter called "Treating Patients Under the Influence of Love Potions". He read a couple sentences here and there, trying to find the bit about Amortentia. 

_As the most powerful love potion in the world, Amortentia is also the most dangerous. Patients under its influence often experience at least two of the following symptoms: fever, paleness, hallucinations, unstable behaviour, short-term memory loss, brain fog, obsessive behaviour. A case can be best identified by asking the patient to describe their favourite scent, as only a person who has come in recent contact with Amortentia would be able to accurately describe it. A patient not under the influence would answer something like "coffee" or "clean linen", whereas a person under the influence will go into great length and detail describing what is most often a strange combination of scents._

_If one is to come across a vile or a cauldron of Amortentia, it must first be identified and then immediately disposed of. In general, the magical healing practice does not approve of the brewing or consumption of Amortentia._

Harry stopped reading when the paragraph went on to describe what Amortentia looked like. Harry had seen it before, and he remembered it as an irridescent concoction of colours that, to him, had smelled like trackle tart, wood and Ginny Weasley. 

Harry got up and decided to go see what his flatmates were up to.

Dean and Seamus had spread papers, quills and bottles of coloured ink all over the kitchen table. It seemed Dean was trying to teach Seamus how to draw, and was having very little success at it. Seamus was impatient and gave up easily. 

"See, it turned out all wonky again!" Seamus crumpled up the piece of parchment, now decorated with something that could best be described as a stick figure during an earthquake, and tossed it over his shoulder into a pile of crinkled paper that was apparently the result of several hours of work. 

"Finn, I need a break," Dean said, rubbing his temples. 

"Finn?" Harry said.

"Oh, hi," Dean said and smiled wearily. "It's a nickname." 

"What are you drawing?" Asked Harry, but Seamus seemed to be preoccupied with drawing a line to resemble a smile on his new stick figure. 

"It's supposed to be me," Dean said. "You couldn't tell?"

Harry looked at the stick figure. Its neck was almost as long as Larry's. 

"I mean," Harry said and didn't continue. 

"Piss off, the lot of you," Seamus said and held the paper in front of him. "The resemblance is uncanny." 

"Sure," Dean said and gently removed the quill from Seamus' hand. "Let's eat something, yeah?" 

"You're no fun, Big D." 

Harry snorted. 

"Another nickname?" 

"Yes," Dean said. "He uses it to annoy me."

"No I don't," Seamus said. "I use it to flatter you."

All of a sudden Harry realized the nickname wasn't derived from the first letter of Dean's name. He immediately decided it was urgent to go see if anyone was in the living room. 

Neville, Ron and Hermione were all there. Neville was sitting in one of the armchairs, holding two small sticks that had a knotty mess of red yarn hanging from them. Hermione was reading and occasionally giving instructions to Neville. She was sitting in the corner of the sofa with her legs curled up under a blanket. Ron was resting his head on them, busy with throwing a superball against the wall, catching it as it bounced back. 

"Relax your wrists," Hermione said in a calming tone to Neville, who looked like he was using every ounce of concentration he could muster to succeed at whatever it was he was trying to do.

"I have muscles in my wrists?" 

"What are you doing?"

"Hi," Ron said and changed positions so that Harry could sit next to him on the sofa. 

"Neville is learning how to knit," Hermione explained without raising her eyes from the book. "His legged pots kept him awake all night."

"Will knitting help him fall asleep?" Asked Harry in a confused tone. 

"That'll happen before he gets the hang of it," Ron said and yawned.

Hermione sighed. 

"He's making woollen socks for the pots so their steps won't make so much noise."

"Ooh," Harry nodded. "Wouldn't it be easier to just transfigure them back to normal pots?"

"Then they won't be able to move from sun to shade when they want to... I don't have the heart to do it. And anyway, they feel like friends now. Had them like this all summer when I was at Cuddlebogs," Neville said.

" 'Mione made hundreds of socks for the house elves back in the day. Poor buggers are probably freezing now, with us gone and all."

"Hundreds," Neville sighed. "I'll be lucky if I ever finish one." 

"You'll get there," Hermione said. "Besides, we can split the job. I can make half of them."

"Really?" Neville said. "You'd do that? But you're so busy with PoM and everything..."

PoM was short for Politics of Magic, Hermione's major. 

"Of course," Hermione said, closing the book after placing a bookmark with a cat-shaped charm dangling from it, in between the pages. "We're friends, aren't we? I can make some while listening to lectures. It won't take long anyway, since they're so small." 

Harry smiled and his eyes met Hermione's. Clearly she had had the same idea about trying to cheer Neville up. 

"Thank you!" Neville said, his posture visibly correcting itself. "Okay, I'm starting over. Twelve stitches, was it?"

"Ten."

"Right."

"Ron?" Hermione said.

"Hm?"

"They're not freezing. The house elves."

"How do you know?"

"I send socks and hats to them every Christmas."

Ron didn't have time to answer before Percy Weasley's presence filled the whole room. He had been living in the dorm before starting his new internship as a bookkeeper in the Ministry of Magic and now, judging by the empty cardboard box he was holding, he had come to clear out what was still left of his belongings in the flat. Perhaps out of pride or solidarity towards Hermione, he was wearing his PoM uniform, complete with a navy blue blazer and a golden lapel pin in the shape of a small hammer. 

"Ah, Hermione, I was hoping to run into you," Percy said, handing the young woman a pile of papers. "I thought I'd lend you my notes on magical law. You know I got full marks on that test, right? Well, I should be on my way - but if you have any questions, about anything," he said, "don't hesitate to send an owl to the Ministry. I'm sure I'll be able to squeeze a few minutes of tutoring into my schedule." 

Hermione took the papers and smiled awkwardly. She didn't have the heart to tell Percy that the courses on magical law had been moved to first year, and she too had passed them with full marks. 

"Thank you. I appreciate it." 

Percy nodded nobly and then turned his attention to Ron.

"And you, you need to quit slacking around. Our name is starting to finally count for something at the Ministry, did you know that?"

"Golly," Ron said, "I better get my act together then."

"That's the spirit," Percy said, perhaps choosing to ignore or simply not picking up Ron's sarcasm. 

"Well, I'll have to be on my way," he said apologetically while waving his wand. The cardboard box that had been empty only moments ago now levitated out of his old room, full of miscallenous stuff he had left behind. 

"Oh," he then said, "I almost forgot. Charlie is coming to do a lecture for the Magizoologists next week and he'll be staying in my old room, so don't let anyone charge in there before that."

Come midnight, Harry was still doing homework. Ron was in his room too, with his homework spread on the bed along with a bag of crisps that rustled whenever Ron reached his hand inside. It had become a habit for the two to do homework together at night. Harry had found he could concentrate better when his friends weren't having fun in the next room and Ron... Well, he never seemed to remember about homework before it was already dark outside. 

"When was that time - do you remember, when the Bludger chased me?" 

"Year two," Ron said, stuffing a handful of crisps into his mouth, effectively sprinkling the crumbs all over his sweater. 

"Year... two..." Harry said as he wrote. "Right. Broken arm, a couple Bludgers to the head, Umbridge's black quill... That's about everything that matters, right?" 

"Forgot about that bloody quill," Ron muttered. "What a bitch." 

"Yep," Harry agreed.

"Hey, aren't you forgetting something?" Ron then said, turning to look at Harry.

"What?"

"When Malfoy broke your nose. You should write that down and see how much Skepperus likes him after that." 

Harry touched the bridge of his nose. He remembered the grotesque sound of cartilage cracking, vividly. He could almost taste blood in his throat.

"Yeah... Tonks fixed it afterwards though. She used _Episkey_. Guess I could write something about that being used for minor injuries."

"I hope you're kidding, man. This is your chance to get back at the bastard!"

Harry forced a smile and continued to stare at his parchment. What was it about getting back at Malfoy that sounded about as exciting as helping Gilderoy Lockhart answer his fan mail? Wouldn't it be better to just, try to forget and forgive? Or at least forget?

"Well, what did you write?"

"Uh," Harry said, "I wrote about it."

"Good," Ron said. "Arsehole deserves it." 

Harry waited for Ron to start leafing through his Charms book and then wrote: 

_A blonde with some serious daddy issues broke my nose once. Episkey was used to fix it._

Little did Harry know that professor Skepperus, perhaps due to his limited eyesight, was especially fond of peer reviews. 

Harry tried to keep a straight face as he pretended to read Malfoy's homework. He was just waiting for Malfoy to get to the good part.

Malfoy stared at the parchment Harry had handed him, his nose twitching as if in disgust.

"Think you're funny, Potter?" 

"Didn't think you'd read it," Harry said. "Besides, if the professor can recognize you from that description, you can't exactly say I'm wrong."

"Prat."

" _Attacked by hippogriff_?" Harry said as he noticed what was written on Malfoy's homework. "Dramatic way to put it, don't you think?"

"Bloody chicken almost killed me. Give me that," Draco said and snatched his homework from Harry before he could read any further. 

"How did you get in, anyway?" Harry asked after a moment of silence.

"What do you mean?"

"To Darthorn. You never came back to Hogwarts like the rest of us. You didn't graduate." 

"Hogwarts," Malfoy huffed. "There are other ways to get in."

"You mean like, knowing the right people?"

"It's best you don't mention my family unless you want someone to have to use _Episkey_ on your nose again," Malfoy said. For a few seconds he hesitated, looking as if he couldn't quite decide if he should say what he was thinking. "Besides... The right people stopped being the right people after the war. Things changed." He ran his slender fingers along the spine of his notebook. 

"What do you mean?"

"None of your concern," the blonde said and then quickly straightened his posture as professor Skepperus approached them. 

"Now then," the old man said, "should you grade each other's work from one to ten, ten being the highest of course..." Skepperus had a thick book and a quill at the ready, and Harry realized he was waiting for them to speak. 

Harry glanced at Malfoy. Malfoy nodded towards the professor, urging Harry to speak first. 

"Uh," Harry said, scratching a nonexistent itch at the nape of his neck, "eight?" 

"Very good," said Skepperus, "and Draco?"

Draco's shoe had been tapping at the floor restlessly, but now it stopped. He threw a quick leer at Harry as if assuring him that everything would still be the same, and said:

"Eight." 

"Good, good," Skepperus said and started walking back to the front of the classroom, talking as he went. "Next week we will start our short delve into the healing practice of muggles. It's not in the curriculum, but I find that knowing the basics can be very useful to magic-users, should they find themselves in a tricky situation with no wand at hand." 

"Therefore," he continued, "in the same pairs you already worked with, I'll be sending you to visit some muggle hospitals to make some interviews. Brief, of course, and it goes without saying that you are not by any circumstance to reveal the reason for which you're asking. Especially those of you who are participating in the Auror training programme should pay close attention to this assignment. It's no secret that muggles get hurt when wizards start to make trouble." 

The professor looked at his pocket watch. "Well, then... Oh, before I dismiss you, one more thing! When you visit the muggle hospitals, you are not to be seen in uniform and you are not, and I want to make this very clear, NOT allowed to bring your wands."

The students started to stir in protest, but the professor hadn't finished talking. 

"I will hear no complaints about it! The rule is absolute. It's bad enough that I'm veering from the curriculum. I don't need ten Ministry officials on my back after one of you accidentally uses magic in the middle of a hospital."

"Figures," Malfoy said. "Some of these wankers couldn't pick up a tissue from the floor without levitating it." 

"I was expecting you to say something more like, 'my father will hear about this'," Harry said.

Malfoy gave an unamused laugh.

"Things change."


	3. The Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco start working on professor Skepperus' assignment. Draco starts acting weird, and Harry doesn't realize what's going on before it's too late.

Harry was waiting for Draco in the staircase. A painting of a forest was guarding the door to his dorm, that Harry knew housed many previous members of the Slytherin house. The picture reminded Harry of the Forbidden Forest, although the one in the painting was much more beautiful with golden beams of light that were filtered as they fell in between the trees, creating patterns in the tall grass. Harry wondered what creature would come to greet him from the forest, had he tried to guess the password.

It had felt weird to leave his wand in his room. He had hidden it under his pillow. Not that he was afraid of anyone stealing it - no one in his dorm even knew he didn't have his wand on him. It just felt safer that way. 

According to professor Skepperus' instructions, Harry wasn't wearing his Auror Trainee uniform that consisted of black, well-tailored clothes that had embroidered details in black thread that didn't reflect sunlight. Instead he had lazily thrown on a flannel and some jeans and figured that made him look enough like a Muggle. He was also wearing a beaten up, brown leather jacket that had once belonged to Sirius. He still hadn't gotten a haircut, and Ron had teased him about it at breakfast. 

"It'll be long enough soon to make a pretty little bun," he had said. Harry had laughed, but secretly he wasn't planning on cutting his hair just yet. He had noticed that he looked quite a bit like Sirius when he let his hair, moustache and beard grow out a little bit, and he wasn't quite ready to let go of that. Not yet, at least.

Draco still hadn't come. Harry looked at his watch. Maybe he had misunderstood something and Malfoy was already waiting for him outside? 

Harry skipped down the stairs and into the courtyard, but Malfoy wasn't there. Harry turned around, preparing to climb back to the seventh floor when he saw Malfoy coming down the stairs. He was wearing slacks and a green jumper with a white collar peeking out of the neckline, and was drinking something out of a black thermos mug. Pansy Parkinson followed him all the way down before stopping at the last step. 

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here? I'm sure Potter will manage on his own," Harry heard her say. He didn't have time to hear whether Malfoy answered her or not, because he was now in a hurry to lean against the nearest wall and look indifferent about the whole situation. 

"Let's go." Malfoy walked straight past Harry and he went after him. 

"So, are you and Pansy still a thing?" 

"We never were a 'thing'," Malfoy said and sipped from his thermos. "Besides, I don't hang out with her since the - actually, why am I bothering to explain this to you? It's not like it's any of your business." 

"Got you talking at least," Harry said. 

"What, because you like listening to me talk all of a sudden?"

They crossed Chilworth Street in silence.

“We’ll take a right at Paddington Station”, Harry said. “You reckon we’ll be seeing any little bears with red hats running about?” 

Draco looked at Harry with an expression that should have been reserved for looking at Quidditch accidents as they happened. 

“Forget I said that," Harry said as he realized there was no way Draco could have known about Paddington Bear.

“If only the odds were in my favour like that," Draco said. The awkwardness in the air only grew thicker as they passed the station. 

Soon enough they were standing in front of St. Mary’s Hospital. 

“You ever been inside one of those before?” Draco asked. 

“Not that I can remember," Harry said. “Though I think I’d have to have been dying for the Dursleys to have me checked up.” 

“Dursleys?”

“My, uh… Aunt’s family. Muggles. Rather not talk about them.”

“Got it. Let’s go?”

“Yeah. You ok?”

“What do you mean?”

“You look a little dazed is all," Harry said, and he wasn’t wrong. Draco kept staring at the same place without blinking for unnerving amounts of time. 

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” 

“Alright.”

They stood next to the doorway and watched as nurses ran from one room to the next, babies cried and raccoon-eyed parents tried to comfort them. Draco looked wildly uncomfortable. It could’ve had something to do with the fact that for wizards, doctors were “Muggle nutters who cut people up," as Ron had so nicely put it.

“Looks like these people have better things to do," Draco muttered. “Let’s go to a library instead. Muggles have libraries, right?”

“You might have a point," Harry said, but they didn’t get the chance to make a decision before a nurse approached them.

“Are you boys lost? The loo is down the hallway and to the left," she said. She was a friendly looking woman who reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley somehow. 

“Potter, we should go-”

“Actually," Harry said as the idea hit him, “we have to write a paper where we interview someone we consider a hero.” 

“I’m terribly sorry boys, but all the doctors are busy right now.”

“Well, we were actually looking to interview a nurse," Harry said. “We just think they’re the most underappreciated people in the whole, uh, society right now. Unsung heroes, isn’t that right, Draco?” Harry flashed a confident smile at Draco, who was staring at the ceiling impatiently.

“Miss, do you happen to know a nurse we could interview?” Harry continued. 

“My, goodness me," the woman chuckled. “Tell you what - I’ll take care of this paperwork and meet you on the sixth floor in a bit. We can go to the staff room, it’ll be nice and calm there.”

“Perfect," Harry said, “thank you, miss!”

They watched as the nurse scurried into the hallway. 

“Saint Potter saves the day," Malfoy said, his tone more bored than impressed. 

“My pleasure," Harry said. “Let’s go find the elevator.” 

“Maybe I should go back," Draco said out of the blue. He had a strange look in his eyes. It was as if he wasn’t even trying to focus them on anything in specific. “Pansy will be worried.”

“What do you mean worried?” Harry frowned. 

“I should… Just have a feeling…”

“Draco, are you alright?”

“What? No, you’re right - let’s go find the elevator.” 

Draco was obviously nervous about being on a Muggle elevator. He was constantly picking at his neck and leering at the walls like a caged animal. It wasn’t a new elevator either - it let out a horrible, squeaking noise every time they passed another floor. Harry felt the whole cabin shake as they finally stopped. They waited, but the doors didn’t open.

Harry pressed the button with the picture of opening doors on it. Nothing happened.

“What’s taking so long?” Malfoy asked.

“I don’t know," Harry said and tried pressing some of the other buttons. Nothing happened.

“I think it stopped working," he said.

“What - what do you mean stopped working?”

“I mean it decided to retire from the lifting business," Harry said, inspecting what buttons he had left to try. He tried the one with a bell on it. It let out a buzzing sound, but nothing happened. 

“We don’t even have our wands.” Malfoy tried to pace around and when he realized he couldn’t, he said: “Fuck!” 

“Calm down," Harry said. “I’ll get us out of here.”

“Fucking Muggles”, Malfoy groaned. “Fucking Muggles and their lousy electricity… should have gone back when I had the chance.” 

Harry sighed and backed away from the control panel. Nothing was working. He sat down on the cabin floor and looked calmly at Draco.

“We have to wait. They’ll notice sooner or later.” 

“What do you mean wait? Isn’t there anything you can do?” 

“I’m not an electrician," Harry said. “Even if they already knew the lift was stuck, it would probably take at least half an hour for someone to get here.” 

“Fucking Muggles…” Draco sat down and shook his head. “Unbelievable. And Pansy looked so pretty today… Could’ve stayed with her. And now I’m stuck in a Muggle hell machine with you. Should have stayed with her....”

“I thought you said you didn’t hang out with her anymore," Harry said. 

“Of course I hang out with her," Malfoy huffed in disbelief. “I mean, who wouldn’t?”

“I could name a few… No, but you really said this morning that you don’t hang out with her anymore.” 

“Did I?” Draco said. He was staring at the air in front of him and looked somehow confused. 

“Draco, is everything alright? You’re being weird today.” 

“I feel dizzy," Draco said and hugged his knees, rocking back and forth restlessly. “I wanna see Pansy.” 

Harry frowned. Had Draco been lying when he said he wasn’t dating Pansy? But why would he have lied about something like that? Besides, together or not, it wasn’t like Malfoy to swoon after someone like that. Or at least, it didn’t seem like him to Harry. 

“Listen, it’s okay if you’re scared," Harry said. “They’ll get us out of here.” 

Draco was peeking into his thermos mug, visibly disappointed to find it was empty. 

“Scared," he said in an eerily absent tone. “I’m not scared, I… I think I’m in love with Pansy.” Draco’s eyes shot up to look at Harry, and now they were filled with an unnatural glow. “I’m in love with her, Harry!”

“Uh… Okay," Harry said and tried to scoot a little further away from Draco while he wasn’t looking. Draco had just called him by his first name. That alone was enough to convince him that the blonde had either gone, or was currently in the process of going, nuts. 

“She’s so different from other girls," Draco said dreamily. “I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before - she even made me coffee this morning! Just for me.” 

“That was nice of her," Harry admitted. 

Then, suddenly, his eyes widened in realization. The coffee.

“Give me that," he said and snatched the thermos mug from Draco’s hands. Harry sniffed the top. It smelled like coffee - but also of something else. Of treacle tart and wood, and… no, not flowers anymore, but Harry still knew what was in the mug. He then remembered what he had read about Amortentia a few days earlier. The question. Just to make sure. 

“Draco," Harry said, “what’s your favourite smell in the whole world?”

“Green apples," Draco said without hesitation. “And- and, the way the air smells when it thunders, you know that, that heavy, electric smell that’s also kind of ominous… And…” Draco looked around, as if he was looking for something. “It’s something different…”

There was nowhere Harry could escape when Draco crawled closer to him, sniffing the air like a hound who was trying to locate a rabbit in the thicket.

“Uh, Draco-”

“It’s this," Draco said, fascinated as he pointed at Harry’s arm.

“My - my leather jacket?” Harry stuttered. He was slowly turning red in the face as he wasn’t used to Draco being so close to him. “You like the smell of leather jackets?” 

“No - no!” Draco suddenly backed away into the opposite corner. “You can’t tell Pansy.”

“Tell her what?” Harry said, still flustered. 

“You can't tell her!" Draco insisted with more passion than Harry had ever heard in his voice. "She wouldn't get it," Draco said and continued rocking back and forth. "She'd say I'm- She'd think - And she can't, because I love her!"

"Draco," Harry said in a stern voice. "It's okay. She gave you Amortentia, do you understand? It will wear off."

"No, _you_ don't understand," Draco said, shaking his head as if they were in grave danger.

"It’s _your_ leather jacket, Harry.”


	4. Kiss and Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco wakes up to find himself in a compromising position.

Draco woke up to a stinging headache that had been gnawing at his temples all night. He rolled over in his bed, burrowing deeper into the pile of pillows he had taken with him when he had left the manor. The pillowcases were soft linen from Egypt, trimmed with strips of black silk, and they still had a faint scent of a place that had once been home lingering on them. But now they smelled of something else too, Draco noticed, something sweet and musky that was at the same time familiar and strange.

Draco startled awake. This wasn’t his bed. 

He was in a room, similar to his own but a lot messier, and the walls were plastered with Quidditch posters in colours that Draco could tell were garish even in the dim, blue light of the sun that had yet to rise. The writing desk was buried under piles of books, folders and loose pieces of parchment, and above it hung a carelessly compiled collage of what looked like newspaper clippings. Draco squinted. Every article was about Aurors.

The pile of laundry on the chair looked like it had been tossed there by someone who was so lazy that they kept moving the pile from the chair to the bed in an effort to avoid dealing with it.

Draco was wearing the clothes from when he had left to visit a Muggle hospital with Potter, where… Draco rubbed his forehead. He could distantly remember a Muggle in a strange, blue outfit, but every time he tried to grasp the memory to figure out what had happened, it blurred and escaped him. He remembered sitting on the floor somewhere with Potter. Draco frowned. It wasn’t like him to sit on the floor, especially in that company. He must’ve remembered it wrong.

Draco threw his legs over the edge of the bed, but startled and pulled them back up when he felt his feet hit something that felt unnervingly enough like a person. Draco peeked over the bed frame onto the floor, and whoever was lying there let out a groan and shifted, the floor boards creaking softly under their weight. 

Draco felt the blood escape his face as he came to the realization that he was looking at Harry Potter, and that this was his room. 

The man had wrapped himself up in a brown leather jacket, and his other arm was stretched out next to him, the hand holding a pair of glasses with round frames. It looked like he had fallen asleep in the middle of trying to place them further away from himself to avoid rolling over them in his sleep. Not that there was much space to roll over. 

After a confused lag, Draco felt irritation take over him. He started to fumble for his wand. He didn’t find it, but Potter’s wand was conveniently tucked under the pillow on which Draco had slept on. He grabbed it, and as silently as he could, got out of the bed and crouched over the sleeping man on the floor, pointing the wand at his throat. 

Drool was dripping down on Potter’s cheek. Draco frowned and pushed him, not forcefully enough to hurt him, but surely enough to wake him up. 

Potter mumbled something incomprehensible and rolled over. Draco huffed impatiently and pushed him again, harder this time.

“Wake up you prat," Draco snarled and watched as Potter jolted awake, eager to see his frightened expression as he’d realize Draco had his wand. But much to Draco’s disappointment, Potter just looked at him jadedly. 

“Merlin, Draco," he said, “it’s like, what, five in the morning? A little early to pounce on me, don’t you think?” 

Draco frowned and sunk deeper into the uncomfortable feeling that he hadn’t the faintest idea of what was going on. Potter’s hair was pointing out in all different directions, and Draco couldn’t help but wonder how the strands had the strength to stand up on their own like that despite being so long. 

He then came to his senses and grabbed Potter by the collar of his flannel.

“You’d better start explaining what the fuck is going on," he said, sounding only half as intimidating as he would’ve liked. “Why am I in your room?” 

Potter still looked so unimpressed and relaxed that Draco felt like jinxing him on the spot.

“I’ll tell you what happened," Potter said, “calm down. It’s okay.” 

“Don’t try to calm me down like I’m some scared pup.” Draco backed off a little as Potter sat up, stretching his back with a couple painful-sounding cracks. 

“Why don’t you give me my wand and we’ll talk.” It was as if Potter had just now noticed that Draco was holding it. 

“No.” 

“Okay. Will you put it on the bed? I won’t touch it, I promise.” 

Draco felt his blood boil. Potter was talking to him like he was negotiating with a toddler.

“You don’t get to give me orders before you tell me what the hell happened!”

“Okay, just - keep your voice down, okay? I don’t need everyone knowing you’re here.” 

Draco tensed up a little as Harry started talking.

“Pansy put Amortentia in your coffee. The effects hit you when we were already at the hospital, and then we got stuck in an elevator. By the time the custodian got us out, it was already dark outside and you were ready to physically knock out anyone who would stop you from getting to Pansy. I didn’t want to give her the chance to give you another dose so I smuggled you in here and made you drink a sleeping potion. That’s it.”

Draco stared at Harry, trying to take in what he had just said.

“You’re lying. There’s no way Pansy would have succeeded at brewing Amortentia.”

“Merlin’s beard, Draco, think about it! You’re an Alchemy major. It would have been easy enough for her to steal your key to the lab and just take some.” 

“But- why?”

“I don’t know, Draco. You tell me.”

“I don’t believe you. Those ruddy Muggle doctors did something to me, didn’t they?”

Potter didn’t answer, but Draco could tell from his appalling, pitying smile that that wasn’t the case. 

“Can you think of any reason why she would’ve given you Amortentia?”

“Yes," Draco said reluctantly. 

“Well? Let’s hear it.” 

“It’s really none of your business, Potter.” 

“I’m pretty sure you just spit a little on my face.” 

“Why I’m ever so sorry," Draco huffed sarcastically and threw Harry’s wand on the bed where neither of them could easily reach it. 

“It’s normal to have short-term memory loss after having Amortentia," Harry said. “I read about it.” 

“Oh, _you_ read about it? Which one of us is the alchemist again?” 

“I’m just trying to help, Draco.”

“And it didn’t ever occur to your one and a half brain cells that I never asked for your help, did it? God, Potter, you probably get some sick pleasure from having people praise you for saving them. No wonder you want to be an Auror.”

Draco was satisfied to notice Harry’s expression shift. He was now getting angry. 

“What was I supposed to do, just leave you on the street, wailing because you couldn't find Pansy? In case you didn’t know, I don’t have the password to your dorm, so I couldn’t take you there. Or would you have liked that, Draco? Your Slytherin friends seeing me haul you to your room?”

Potter’s voice had an unfamiliar tone that caused a strange burning in Draco’s stomach.

“Besides, Pansy could have still been there and she could have… you know.” 

Draco stayed silent. He knew what Potter meant and just the thought made Draco crawl in his skin. Disgusting. But Pansy wouldn't have done anything like that, he knew it. 

“Why do you care so much what happens to me, anyway?” He then muttered and didn’t really know where to look. 

“You would have done the same for me.”

Draco let out an unamused laugh. 

“Actually, you already have," Harry continued. “At your house, remember? You didn’t tell Bellatrix it was me. Voldemort could’ve killed me that day, but you-”

A distant sound of a fridge opening interrupted Harry.

“Someone’s already awake," Harry said under his breath and started looking for something with his gaze. “I’ll sneak you out of here.”

“How?”

“I have an Invisibility Cloak.”

“You can’t tell anyone. About what happened.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” 

“Why should I trust you?”

Harry sighed and looked at Draco.

“Do it as a favour. To pay me back for my troubles. I mean, you did bite me and everything." He had now gotten up and was rummaging through his trunk for the cloak.

“I - what?” Draco felt blood rushing to his face.

“Wasn’t exactly easy to get you to take the sleeping potion," Harry said and took off his flannel, revealing a worn out T-shirt that showed enough skin on the arms for Draco to notice a red bite mark. “Had to wrestle you _and_ keep you quiet at the same time. Not really something I do for fun.”

Draco was so embarrassed he couldn’t get a single word to come out.

“Don’t worry about it," Harry said as he draped the cloak over the both of them. “I don’t kiss and tell.” 

"Revolting choice of words, really." 

"By the way - you don't remember saying to me yesterday... About your favourite smell..."

"What?" 

"No matter. Let's go." 


	5. The Tattooed Alchemist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Weasley gives a lecture on dragons at Darthorn. Harry feels like Draco is avoiding him, and just as he thinks he has resolved the situation, it appears he has a bigger problem. Someone in the dorm knows more than they ought to...

Just like Percy had said, Charlie Weasley came to Darthorn the following week. Much to Ron’s disappointment, he was on a tight schedule and didn’t have much time to spend in the dorm in between lectures. Although Harry wasn’t very fond of dragons after fighting a Hungarian Horntail in the Triwizard tournament a few years back, he had agreed to go with Ron to one of Charlie’s lectures. Much like his brother, Ron was fascinated by dragons to such an extent that Harry sometimes wondered why he hadn’t gone into Magizoology instead of the AT programme. 

Malfoy had been avoiding Harry since the Amortentia incident. Harry was sure of this, as he had been without a pair in two Magical Injury classes already. The task of coming up with an excuse for professor Skepperus as to why they hadn’t completed the previous assignment had also been forced on Harry. He had figured professor Skepperus would just give them a little more time and they could try again, but to his horror Skepperus had given them a whole new assignment instead. Harry was anxious to talk about it to Draco in fear that they would both soon fail the class, but Draco was nowhere to be found. Harry had even spent a whole afternoon reading in the courtyard the previous week, hoping that Draco would pass through. He hadn’t.

The class wasn’t the only thing Harry would have liked to talk about with Draco. He was dying to know why Pansy had tricked him into drinking Amortentia if the two weren’t even friends anymore. The whole situation just seemed so strange, and since Harry had been the one to help Draco - had he liked it or not -, he felt too invested to just let the whole thing slide. 

And, there was actually a third thing about Malfoy that had started to bother Harry recently. Harry had no idea what had happened to him after the big battle where Voldemort had finally been defeated. Harry was keen to know, because leading up to the battle a lot of things had happened that had made Harry wonder about Draco. Like the time he hadn’t revealed to Bellatrix that it was Harry who the snatchers had caught, or before that, when Harry had seen Draco lower his wand just before Dumbledore’s death. Or the time before that, when Harry had found Draco crying in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. 

At the time, Harry had had the feeling that Draco would change sides. That at any minute, he would rebel against his parents and fight the Death Eaters. But he never did, and Harry didn’t understand why, because it seemed like he had wanted to. 

“You coming, Harry?” Ron’s voice said from the door. 

“Yeah. Be there in a minute.”

Harry put on his uniform jacket and quickly glanced in the mirror before leaving. He tied his hair up into a silly-looking bun just to spite Ron. He tried to throw his best confident smile at his reflection, but was unable to impress himself. Why do you care if Malfoy is avoiding you, he imagined his reflection asking. He didn’t have an answer for that. 

The lecture was brilliant. Charles was funny and witty, and spent the last thirty minutes talking about his personal favourite species of dragon, the Hebridean Black. 

“Now, this last bugger isn’t any small beast," Charlie said as he charmed into existence an almost too realistic-looking dragon. It was made up of black, stringy bits of smoke that somehow still glittered in the light, resembling real scales. It was so big that it couldn’t have stood up on its back legs in the classroom. 

“Notice the tip of the tail is shaped like an arrow. Charming, yes, but not the most pleasant to be slapped in the face with.”

The students were mesmerized by the performance, clapping and cheering as the mockup dragon spit pretend fire at them. 

“Now, who can guess how long it is from snout to tail?” 

Someone guessed twenty-five feet, but the correct answer turned out to be thirty. 

“Thirty feet," the Weasley repeated and shook his head with a joyous smile on his face, as if he himself had been in awe at the size of the Hebridean Black.

“Now for the tricky part," he said. “Who can tell me why it has those ridges on its back?”

Ron raised his hand.

“Take a guess, little brother," Charlie said and nodded towards Ron. “Stand up, so the rest of these rascals can hear.” 

“Uh," Ron said, clearly not having expected everyone to have their eyes on him like that, “is it because it has to blend into its surroundings?” 

“Ten points to Gryffindor," Charlie said, and immediately started laughing as he realized his error. “Nevermind that. Now, who knows why it has purple eyes?” 

None of the students knew the answer, and it turned out neither did Charlie.

After the lecture Ron and Harry ran into Hermione, who had just come back from another of the numerous visits to the Ministry of Magic that were part of her programme. 

“I would have rather been at Charlie’s lecture," Hermione admitted as they all sat down under an enormous oak tree in the courtyard. 

It was a crisp and sunny Autumn day, probably one of the few left before the brilliantly orange and red trees would start to sprinkle their leaves onto the grass with a much more generous hand, leaving behind the stripped, gray landscape of winter in London. 

“If only you still had that Time-Turner," Ron said. He raised his arm in an invitation, and Hermione scooted closer, cuddling up next to him so that Harry could barely see her face from behind her massive scarf. 

“Anything interesting at the Ministry?” Harry asked and started to search his shoulder bag for a snack bar. He only found the empty wrapper and realized he had already eaten it during the lecture.

“Not anything out of the ordinary," Hermione said wearily. “Honestly, I don’t know how anything gets done in this country with the way decisions are made. It’s like watching Ents talk.”

“But I thought ants don’t talk at all," Ron said. “Or is that what you meant?”

“Not ants, Ron, Ents!” Hermione laughed. “They’re these imaginary creatures from a book - sentient trees that can walk and speak, only they do it very slowly. Took them a whole day to say ‘hi’ if I remember correctly.” 

“Sounds kind of creepy," Ron said. “I mean, imagine if the Whomping Willow could talk! Would’ve woken up the whole bloody school when Harry and I crashed into it.”

Ron then went on to imitate what he imagined the Whomping Willow would have sounded like (apparently a voice not too far away from the Howler he had received shortly after the car crash). 

“How dare you crash into me, you peasants! I’m going to toss you so far into the Forbidden Forest that Voldemort will grow a nose before they find you lot!” 

Harry hadn’t had laugh as good in weeks, and even Hermione went a little red in the face from giggling for so long. 

“Merlin," she said after calming down a bit, “it’s only the second week and I’m already so tired I could fall asleep right here.”

“We could take a nap in my room," Ron said innocently, and Hermione gently poked him on the nose.

“Boo! Get a room," Harry said.

“Trying to," said Ron and started to tickle Hermione who started to simultaneously giggle and complain that her stomach was hurting.

That’s exactly when Harry saw Malfoy make a beeline from the dorms into the main building. 

“I’ll be right back," he said to his friends, hurried to his feet and went after him. 

Harry shadowed Malfoy all the way to the third floor. He saw the blonde head straight into the Alchemy Lab. Harry frowned. Lessons were over for the day. What business could Malfoy have in there?

To Harry’s surprise, Alohomora worked on the door. It opened quietly enough that Harry’s presence wasn’t immediately revealed. He tried to sneak inside without making any noise, holding his breath as he closed the door behind him. It let out a muffled click, and Harry pinched his eyes closed waiting to hear footsteps coming towards him. None appeared. 

The Alchemy Lab was a set of three classrooms, all connected by the hallway in which Harry was now standing. He had never been inside, but he knew where to go as only the last classroom had light shining through the closed door. He took off his shoes and managed to get to the door without making a single sound. He pressed his ear against it, but heard nothing except little clinks and clanks of glass dishes and instruments being moved from one place to the other. Harry listened for quite a while, and soon he was sure that Malfoy was inside alone. Two students brewing something would have made more noise, and even if the other one had just been sitting there, surely they would have at least talked to each other. Harry wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. This was the perfect opportunity to talk to Malfoy but he didn’t want to make it seem like he had stalked him or something. Even though he kind of had, hadn’t he? 

At that point Harry was already so tired of just standing there that he put his shoes back on and decided to talk to Malfoy some other time. He was already halfway down the hallway when he heard the last door open behind him.

“What the hell are you sneaking around here for?” 

Harry turned around and saw Malfoy standing in the doorway of the last room, the light behind him casting a long shadow into the hallway. He wasn’t wearing his uniform. Instead he had on a black hoodie, its sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and black jeans - a strikingly Muggle-like outfit for someone of his upbringing. And as much as Harry didn’t want to admit it to himself, Draco looked strangely attractive that way.

“I wanted to talk to you," Harry said. 

“Well don’t just stand there like a git then," Malfoy huffed and went back into the classroom. 

Harry took that as an invitation. He followed Draco and saw that he was indeed in the middle of brewing something. 

“What are you making?” Harry asked and sat down on one of the empty seats. 

“Why don’t you just say what you wanted to say and go," Malfoy said and started pouring blue liquid from one vial into another. He had a look of concentration to him when he swirled the liquid around until it turned purple.

“Uh," Harry said and started to feel restless as he realized all the questions he had for Malfoy had escaped him. “Why haven’t you been in class?” That seemed like a safe one to start with.

“None of your business," Malfoy said. “Anything else?” 

“Well, I - what’s that?” 

Malfoy had a geometric picture of trees and mountains tattooed onto his left forearm. 

Malfoy glanced at the tattoo.

“Got it covered up," he said. Harry knew from the look on his face that he was talking about the Dark Mark. 

“Cool." 

Malfoy didn’t answer. He went to open a cabinet behind him and took out a few jars. 

“Is that for homework?” Asked Harry. 

“Uh-huh," Draco mumbled as he started to pour some dried up leaves into a mortar. 

“Skepperus gave us a new assignment to make up for what happened at the hospital.”

“Did you tell him what happened?” Draco grinded the leaves into a powder and tossed them into the cauldron that was on the table next to him. 

“Of course not," Harry said and pulled another chair closer so he could rest his feet on it. “I didn’t tell anyone," he continued. “Just like I promised.”

“Good.” 

“Why didn’t you come to class?” 

“Had better things to do.” 

“Like what? At this rate we’ll both fail.” 

Draco tried to twist open a jar that contained some type of mushrooms. After trying a couple more times, he sighed and handed it to Harry. 

“I’ll come to class next time. You happy now?” 

Harry twisted the jar open (it opened with the most satisfying pop) and handed it back to Malfoy. Malfoy didn’t thank him, and Harry didn’t say “you’re welcome”. 

“What happened with you and Pansy after the whole ordeal anyway?” 

“Can’t you just leave? You’re distracting me.”

“Sorry," Harry said, but didn’t make an effort to get up. 

“Nothing important happened," Draco said after a minute or so of silence. “I told her to piss off and never talk to me again. I’m good at that sort of thing.” 

“Did she tell you why she did it?”

“No," Draco said, visibly getting more and more annoyed as Harry’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “She didn’t tell me because I already knew. You know why I already knew? Because I’m the one who was to live as Draco Malfoy in this sorry excuse of a world, and to me it was perfectly logical why she did it. It’s none of my business whether it makes sense to you or not.” 

Harry could tell from the way Draco turned around and started to search through drawers for something, that he had let more of his thoughts come out than had been his intention. 

“What happened to you after Hogwarts?” 

Draco stopped moving but didn’t turn to look at Harry.

“Why do you-”

“Because I do care," Harry said. “You didn’t kill Dumbledore. You didn’t tell Bellatrix it was me at the mansion, and I never got to know why. And now you’re here wearing Muggle clothes and telling your old friends to piss off, and it just doesn’t seem like you.” 

“What the hell do you know about what is like me and what is not," Draco snarled and threw the handful of dried snakelets he had been holding, across the room. “Don’t you dare think you know me just because I didn’t want you-know-who to kill you!” 

“But he killed me anyway," Harry said, now standing up and leaning his palms onto the counter on which Draco was working on. “And I came back. And now I’m here, asking you, man to man, what happened to you after the war. Not to make fun of you. Not to blame you for what you did to help Voldemort. But because I care, and I know you suffered a lot.” 

“What do you know about suffering," Malfoy spit out and faced Harry from the other side of the counter. “You’re the boy who made all the right choices and saved the world.”

“Not the whole world," Harry said. “I failed to save some of the best parts of it, in fact.” 

“And yet look what you have!” Malfoy shouted and gestured at some imaginary people on his left. “You have the friends you grew up with, galleons in the bank and the whole wizarding world at your feet, ready to greet the great Auror Potter whenever he deems it suitable to let the commoners bask in his glory.”

Harry let out a small laugh.

“And also PTSD.” 

Malfoy was staring at him, out of breath with anger but also with a confused look, as if he had expected some other reaction out of Harry.

“Besides, you’re one to talk when it comes to having galleons in the bank.”

“Not anymore I’m not," Draco said and slowly started to throw mushrooms into the cauldron. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that when it comes to things such as inheritance and connections, I’m not exactly considered a Malfoy anymore.” 

Harry was a little taken aback. So in addition to his friends, Draco had lost his family too?

“What happened?”

Draco sighed.

“Help me pick up those dried snakes, will you?”

As they walked around the classroom, looking under tables and chairs to find the snakes, Draco started talking. 

“Mother was on my side after the trials when I said I didn’t want anything to do with their business anymore, Dark magic or anything else. She agreed. Said it would be better to keep our heads down for a while. I was studying to retake some N.E.W.Ts and for a while things were pretty peaceful. Then I started talking about going to Darthorn and father went ballistic. He insisted I go to some more esteemed college that isn’t so pro-Muggle, and when I told him I didn’t really agree with that ideology anymore, he kicked me out and erased me from his will. Simple as that.” 

Harry handed Draco the handful of snakes he had picked up. Their hands briefly touched and Harry saw Draco flinch a little bit.

“What about your mother?”

“She still writes to me every now and then," Draco said, staring at the dried snakes in his palm. “You should go now. I need to finish this potion.”

When Harry returned to the courtyard, he realized it was already dark and Ron and Hermione had left. Harry headed straight to the dorms. He climbed up to the sixth floor deep in his thoughts and only came to when he realized Larry the Giraffe was staring at him from the painting that guarded the door, this time in his human form. He was a tall, friendly looking man with dirty blonde hair that curled a little bit at his ears. 

“Good evening, Harry," the man said.

“Hi Larry," Harry said. “ _Tiger-striped door knobs_.” 

“I see your friend is not with you tonight. I hope he isn’t ill anymore", Larry said, and then the door swung open. Harry frowned as he walked inside. Was Draco his friend now?

Harry was getting sleepier by the minute as he changed out of his uniform and crawled under the blankets. His pillow still smelled like Malfoy. Harry rolled over and tried very much to dislike the scent. 

He was already half-asleep when someone knocked on his door.

“What is it," Harry slurred and turned towards the door, seeing Neville’s head peeking out of the door frame. 

“Oh, sorry," Neville said, “I didn't know you were sleeping. We can talk another time.” 

“No, it’s okay," Harry said, reached for his glasses and sat up. “Come in.”

Neville closed the door after himself and sat down after awkwardly moving the pile of clothes under which Harry’s chair was buried under. 

“It’s nothing really," Neville said, “or at least, not as if it’s any of my business, but… Why was Draco Malfoy in your room the other night?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed Harry saying to Draco he now has PTSD as a result of everything that happened during the war. As someone who struggles with PTSD, I'm not sure how much of Harry's symptoms I'll have the energy to write into the story without it affecting my own mental health negatively. I generally like to keep my stories light-hearted, but I still felt it was important to stress that I didn't just throw the word 'PTSD' in there as a token without any real intent to follow through with it. (Looking at you, certain relevant-to-this-context author with a nasty habit of queer baiting...) After everything that has happened to Harry, I think it's realistic to assume he would have it.


	6. I solemnly swear...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rough morning, Harry gets something to look forward to. But how much anticipation is too much anticipation?

Harry woke up to bits of dust falling on his face. He opened his eyes and saw the underneath of the staircase in 4 Privet Drive looming ominously above him. He carefully sat up, realizing he was too tall now to sit up straight in the cupboard. Harry reached for his glasses, only to soon realize he was already wearing them. Why did everything look so hazy? 

Harry figured he just wasn’t properly awake yet and tried the door. It was locked. Harry frowned. In the dark he could recognize some of his old things, like the tin horse he had found on the playground once and managed to smuggle back without the Dursleys noticing, but when he reached for it, his fingers grasped at nothing. Harry had a feeling he was in the wrong place altogether. How was he _still_ stuck in the cupboard under the stairs? He felt terror gather in his chest when he realized he had dreamed it all. The wizards, the dragons and vaults full of gold coins, the friends. Harry tried the door again and startled when he saw a pair of red eyes, pierced by terrifying, black slits that resembled a snake’s pupils, looking through the vent straight at him. 

Harry jolted awake, his back drenched in cold sweat. He held onto his chest and felt his heart pulsating manically. Harry tried to take deep breaths, holding them in for four seconds before releasing, just like he had been taught. It didn’t help much, but it gave him something to concentrate on. After a while, Harry collapsed onto his back, looking at the dorm’s white, unthreatening ceiling. Thank Merlin it was still there. Harry felt a tear roll down the side of his face and sink into the pillow underneath his head. He must have been crying in his sleep again. 

After a couple more hours of restless sleep, Harry got up, got dressed and went to have breakfast with his flatmates. He found himself zoning out constantly, sinking into strange thoughts that made his friends, though they were sitting right there, seem distant and foreign. 

“Harry was there too," Ron’s voice said, and Harry realized he was being looked at.

“Yeah," Harry said, feeling a familiar wave of anxiety burning in his gut. He felt bad for lying and pretending he had been listening to the conversation, but what was he supposed to say? Ruin everyone’s mood by saying he had been dissociating all morning? Again? It wasn’t as if anything they said was going to help, anyway. 

Not much later Harry found himself sitting in Magical Injury, listening to professor Skepperus ramble on about the correct method in which bones were to be mended. Harry stared at his general direction, not really focusing his eyes on anything in specific. As much as he had tried to, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to be one of his bad days. The thought provoked more fear in him than he would’ve liked. The idea of it, everything, slipping away from his grasp until Merlin knew how long, terrified him. 

“You’re quiet today, Potter.”

Harry turned to look at Malfoy and could see in his face that he had probably been looking at him for a while now. 

“Yeah," Harry said and turned his gaze into his unopened notebook on the desk. He hated himself when he was like this. He felt like he was unintentionally harsh to everyone whenever someone tried to talk to him, and the last person he wanted to be rude to right now was Draco Malfoy. 

“Things going south with the Weasley girl?” 

“What?” Harry said, sure that his brain had somehow managed to completely mishear what Malfoy had said.

“The Weasley girl," Malfoy repeated. “You two fighting or what?”

“Oh, you mean Ginny," Harry said and to his surprise, noticed the wooden desk under his palm had started to have grains again. “We broke up pretty soon after the war.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, I kind of... screwed the whole thing up.” 

“How come?” 

Harry glanced at Malfoy again. It was strange to be the one answering questions instead of firing them at him. 

“Well, I," Harry started and tried to quickly evaluate how much truth he should include in the story, “I wasn’t doing very well at the time. Had to spend some time at St Mungo's.” 

Harry glanced at Draco. He didn’t say anything, but he raised his eyebrows in a gesture that told Harry he should probably continue talking.

“It’s not as if I went nuts or anything like that," Harry said, although going nuts described very well what the experience had felt like to him, “I just… Everyone kind of assumed I would be really happy after Voldemort died, you know? And it would have made sense for me to be happy about it, too, but I… I just couldn’t.” Harry quickly looked at the professor just to make sure he hadn’t heard them talking in the back of the class.

“Something just happened to me where I didn’t really feel like myself anymore," Harry then continued, fiddling restlessly with his pencil. “I was panicking all the time for no reason and didn’t really sleep until they put me on Calming Draughts at the hospital.” 

“And Ginny didn’t feel like sticking with you through that?”

“No, she tried to," Harry said, “she really did, but I… I didn’t really give her the chance to. By the time I started feeling better, she had already been offered a place at the Harpies.”

“Chaser, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“Right. Well, you should try to look at your notebook now. Skepperus looks like he’s going to come over here any minute now.”

It was already towards the end of the lecture when Harry remembered the conversation he had had with Neville the previous night.

“By the way, Neville knows about what happened with the Amortentia.”

“You told him?” Malfoy asked, irritation in his voice.

“No. He was the one who opened the fridge that morning, remember? He heard us talking.”

“Did he tell anyone?”

“No, he… He’s probably the least likely of them all to tell anyone. Ron would’ve told Hermione and Dean would’ve told Seamus but Neville… I don’t think he’s going to.” 

“You told him not to tell anyone, right?”

“Yes, of course," Harry said, a little annoyed over how little trust Malfoy placed in him.

Malfoy was leaning his chin onto his index fingers and looked like he was pondering hard at something.

“Maybe you should obliviate him.”

“What?” Harry turned to look at Malfoy who was now looking at him, dead serious. Apparently it hadn’t been a joke.

“Draco, I’m not going to obliviate my friend over something like that," Harry laughed and shook his head. “Merlin, you really are a Slytherin.” 

“Just an idea," Draco said. Harry’s heart jumped a little when he noticed Draco had a devious smile on his face. It quickly faded when Draco noticed how Harry was looking at him, and Harry quickly turned to look at his notes. He realized he had never seen Draco smile before, not unless he had been jeering at someone. 

“By the way, what was the assignment we got? To replace the whole interview mess.” 

“Oh," Harry said and started flipping through his notes, trying to find the page where he had scribbled the instructions down, “here.”

He handed the notebook over to Malfoy who took it and stared at the page for a while.

“What kind of hieroglyphs are these supposed to be?” 

Harry let out a bashful laugh. 

“I always had bad handwriting.”

“Yeah, no kidding," Draco huffed. “Am I interpreting it wrong or does it say we have to come up with a scenario where a… struggle?”

“A Muggle gets hurt," Harry corrected. “And then write down how we would heal him using Muggle techniques.” 

“Right," Draco said and handed the notebook back to Harry. “And when is this due?”

“I think last week," Harry said. “Not sure if Skepperus remembers it, though.”

“Oh, he does," Draco said. “He writes everything down in that ruddy book of his.” 

Harry started to smile as he came to think of something.

“Would be a shame if someone stole it.”

Draco turned to look at him.

“You're joking, right?”

“Nope. I mean, we could just move the due date a little further. Won’t hurt anyone.” A mischievous smile escaped Harry’s lips. 

“Now look who’s being a cunning Slytherin," Draco said with a teasing drag in his voice. “Alright then. It’s a better idea than retaking this class next year, anyway.”

“Good. I’ll come up with a plan by lunch. Let’s do it tonight.”

“No," Draco said. “I’ll come up with a plan.”

“Why?” Harry said, surprised that Draco was even willing to participate.

“Because you obviously didn’t sleep last night," Draco said and started gathering his things. “You’ll get us both expelled if you’re not able to concentrate. You were checked out all morning.”

“I was just dissociating," Harry pointed out. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Do I look like I care, Potter? Go take a nap. I’ll meet you in the courtyard at midnight.” Draco got up and left, and Harry stared after him, confused and frightened at the realization that his heart was pounding. Not manically. But out of anticipation.

When Harry returned to the dorm, he found Ron sobbing at the kitchen table. The man startled at the sound of the door opening and started to hurriedly wipe his face. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, dropping his bag at the door and went to sit next to Ron, wrapping him up in a hug before he had time to answer. “Did something happen with Hermione?”

“Harry, I’m failing Charms again," Ron said, his voice muffled against Harry’s uniform jacket. “I’m never going to be an Auror, am I?”

“Don’t say that," Harry said, pushing Ron further away enough so he could look him in the eyes. “Hermione and I will help you, okay?”

“But I don’t want to be helped," Ron sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I want to be good at something, Harry. You know how I feel when you guys have to help me pass every bloody class?”

“That’s not true," Harry said. “You passed Logic and Strategy with the best grades in the programme, remember?”

“But what if this whole Auror thing just isn’t right for me?” 

“Well then…” Harry said, tilting his head a little, “you could always change programmes?”

Ron huffed.

“And start all over again? No way.”

“It could be worth it if you found something you really liked…”

“And tell mum her son isn’t going to be an Auror? She probably has a picture frame at the ready with ‘Auror Weasley’ engraved on it.” 

Harry chuckled. 

“She could always transfigure it to say something else.” 

“Ugh, I don’t know," Ron said and leaned back in his chair, relaxing a little. “There isn’t really any other programme that interests me.” 

“What about Magizoology? You know a lot about dragons.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because of Charlie," Ron said. “I want to have something of my own, you know? I don’t want to be just ‘Charlie Weasley’s little brother who also became a dragonologist’ or ‘The Weasley Twins’ little brother who sometimes sweeps the floors’.” 

“You don’t have to be famous for your life to count for something, you know.”

“Easy for you to say," Ron said. He sighed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Will you help me with Charms?”

“Sure, but we have to start now. I need to be somewhere tonight.”

A smug grin appeared on Ron’s face.

“A hot date?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what is it?”

“Just some… Need to look for something at the library.”

“Alright. I can come help you look.”

“No," Harry said a little too quickly for it to sound inconspicuous.

Ron squinted.

“So it _is_ a date.”

“No, Ron, it really isn’t," Harry said and started to feel a little flustered. 

“You’re up to something. Not really fair to be up to something without including me.”

“Sorry. You’ll get to come along next time, I promise.”

“Fair enough," Ron said, and to Harry’s great relief, started laying his Charms books on the table. 


	7. ...that I am up to no good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco break into professor Skepperus' office, but not everything goes according to plan. When it comes to the past, are Harry and Draco really just two sides of the same coin?

Harry kept looking at his watch.

20:58.

21:04.

21:10. 

Why was it that midnight seemed to slip further away into the future even though the clock ticked on? Every time Harry thought that surely at least half an hour had passed and looked at the watch, he started to feel more and more like it was mocking him for being so impatient. 

“And… finished," Ron said after adding one last dot on the parchment. He laid down his quill, stretched and leaned back in his chair. He had a victorious smile spread across his face.

“Might pass this class after all," he said. “Seriously, Harry, thanks for helping me. I would rather drop out than go ask Hermione to help me again.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. “I’m sure she doesn’t mind.”

“I mind," Ron said, got up and went to fill up the kettle. “I went to listen to one of those speeches they have to do for the programme. 'Mione made the others look like complete oafs. I’m telling you, at this rate she’s going to be Minister for Magic by the time I pass all my classes.”

Harry smiled as Ron continued.

“And I just, I want to be at least somehow worthy, you know?” Ron turned around and poured cereal into his mouth straight from the box. 

“I mean," Harry said, “you did destroy several Horcruxes.” 

“Ah, but that’s old news now, isn’t it," Ron said, giving a grin. “No but seriously - I don’t want to end up an old geezer who keeps boring his grandkids to death by telling the same story over and over, about how he once did something important in a war like a hundred years ago.” 

“I’m pretty sure that would make you a cool grandfather," Harry noted.

“Yeah, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” 

Harry nodded as a thanks when Ron handed him a cup of tea over the table. 

“How’s that class going by the way? The one where they make you sit with Malfoy.” 

Harry wished that he would have already sipped his tea. It would’ve been much more natural-looking to almost choke on it rather than his own spit. 

“You okay there, mate?” 

“I’m fine," Harry croaked and coughed a little. “What was it that you asked again?” Harry was painfully aware of how unnatural he sounded. Why was he so nervous anyway? So he wanted to maybe befriend Malfoy - so what? No big deal, right? Except, it kind of was, and Harry felt like it was something he probably should keep from Ron, for now.

“I asked how you’re holding up in Magical Injury," Ron said, blissfully oblivious. He took a big gulp from his own mug. “Merlin, if I was paired up with Malfoy I'm not sure I'd bother to show up.” 

“It’s not so bad," Harry said, his finger tracing nonsense words in cursive onto the table. “He’s actually a lot nicer these days.”

“Really? How?”

“Well," Harry said, thinking of the way Malfoy had smiled at him in class, “he doesn’t think Muggles are trash anymore. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“A shame, really," Ron said. “I was hoping he’d give Hermione a reason to punch him again. Merlin, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier in my life. Well, if you don’t count-”

“Okay, enough information," Harry said, got up and patted Ron on the shoulder before going to his room. “See you later.” 

Despite Harry almost losing his faith once or twice, midnight did come. Harry was so eager to hear what kind of plan Malfoy had come up with that he arrived to the courtyard fifteen minutes early. He was surprised to see Malfoy was there already, leaning onto a column. He was dressed in the same outfit Harry had seen him wear at the lab, and it would’ve been difficult to see him in the dark if it wasn’t for his platinum hair that gleamed silvery in the moonlight. Malfoy glanced at his watch when he saw Harry approaching.

“It’s not midnight yet," he said.

“And yet, here we are”, Harry said. “What did you come up with?”

Malfoy didn’t answer. He was giving Harry a once-over, and Harry quickly looked down to check his fly wasn’t open or something. 

“You didn’t take that nap, did you?” 

“How can you tell?” Harry asked, his forehead creasing.

“It’s," Malfoy started, and Harry wasn’t sure if he had imagined it, but for a moment he looked a little flushed as he quickly turned to look away from Harry, “it’s your hair. It always sticks straight up after you’ve slept.”

Harry didn’t have time to even be amazed at how observant Draco was before he continued talking.

“Anyway, I followed Skepperus after his last lecture. I saw him go into his office and come back without the book.”

“So he left it in there," Harry nodded. “But how do we get in?”

“I overheard him say the password. One of those portrait doors.”

“What was it?”

“What?”

“The password.”

Draco’s gaze was sweeping the ground. “ _Darling,_ " he said.

Harry blinked.

“I mean… You _could_ also just call me Harry.” 

“Darling is the password, you cretin," Draco snarled, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go.”

He started walking towards the main building. Harry went after him, smiling from ear to ear.

“What was that, darling? I didn’t quite catch that.” 

“Shut up or I’ll fail the class and drag you down with me.”

“ _Lumos_.” 

“Oh fuck”, Draco said under his breath.

The walls of Skepperus’ office were lined with bookshelves, each of them jam-packed full of books that looked about as ancient as the man himself. Apart from the writing desk that stood in the middle of the room, and a narrow closet in the corner that looked like it probably contained extra robes, there was no other hiding place for the notebook.

“It will take us all night to find it if it’s on one of those shelves," Draco said. 

“I don’t think it is," Harry said and walked to the desk. “He has bad eyesight, remember? I don’t think he could very easily tell the notebook apart from all those just by the spine.” 

Harry tried pulling one of the drawers on the desk. It was locked. Draco walked up next to him, pointed his wand at the lock and said: “ _Alohomora_.”

Nothing happened. 

“Fuck," Draco said. 

Harry squinted. He crouched down and looked closely through the keyhole of each drawer, using the light of his wand to see inside. 

“Looks like just papers," Harry said. 

“That means it’s got to be one of those”, Draco said and turned to look at the shelves that towered over them from each wall. 

“Are you sure Skepperus didn’t have it when he left?” Harry asked.

“Of course I’m sure," Draco huffed. 

“It just doesn’t make sense for him to hide it very well," Harry said. “I mean, he uses it every day, and it’s not like it has Ministry secrets in it.”

“Unless it has," Draco said and looked at Harry, raising his brows smugly.

Harry chuckled.

“Oh, professor Skepperus…” he sighed and started looking through one of the shelves, holding his wand in between his teeth as a light source.

A faint sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. 

Draco and Harry turned to look at each other. Neither of them moved.

The sound disappeared for a moment and then started again. 

“Someone’s coming," Harry mouthed without making a sound. “ _Nox_.” The footsteps were coming closer. 

Harry and Draco looked around frantically, but the room was painfully lacking of places to hide. Then Draco nodded at the closet.

They stumbled to it in the darkness, their steps muffled by the thick rug that covered the floor, and opened the doors. It was obvious they wouldn’t fit inside very well.

“Maybe we should-” Harry started, but never got to finish the sentence before Draco had already shoved him against the back wall of the closet between some musty-smelling robes, squeezed himself in and closed the doors after them. 

They held their breaths and listened. Whoever was walking in the hallway stopped in front of professor Skepperus’ office. 

Draco was so close that Harry had to physically look away in order to not get more flustered than he already was. Draco was pressed against him, and he could feel the soft air current of his breathing travel across his cheek before it evaporated. The way it felt - wait, what? Harry caught his thoughts as they started to drift away and tried to focus.

“ _Darling,_ " a familiar, spread-thin voice said from the other side of the door. 

Draco and Harry glanced at each other. They both knew it was Skepperus. They heard the soft thumps of his short footsteps come inside. 

Harry was already trying to come up with excuses in his head for when Skepperus would open the closet and find two students inside. But why would he need to fetch robes in the middle of the night?

A quiet rattle came about, and Harry realized it was the sound of a key turning in a lock. The drawer was opened and closed. Stumpy footsteps. The door closed. 

Harry and Draco stared at each other as they listened to professor Skepperus walk down the hallway and into the staircase.

They practically fell out of the closet, stumbled to their feet and started to awkwardly straighten their clothes.

“ _Lumos_ ," Draco said, and the room lit up in a faint, blue glow. “With our luck he grabbed the notebook.”

“Well he definitely took something out of the drawer," Harry said. “Look.” 

Harry walked to the desk. The first drawer was closed just as before, but now the corner of a piece of parchment was sticking out of the crack. Harry carefully pinched it in between his index finger and thumb and started to slowly, gently drag it across the top of the drawer. 

“What are you-”

The click of the latch being pressed inside the lock interrupted Draco. The drawer opened.

Draco whistled softly. 

Harry smiled, secretly pleased from having managed to impress Draco. 

The drawer looked like it contained only papers, but when Harry moved them around a bit, he found the notebook tucked underneath. 

“No fucking way," Draco said and shined the light of his wand so that it illuminated the notebook. 

Harry flipped the pages until he found the spread for the current Magical Injury class. First listed were the grades for their first homework assignment. A sophisticated, cursive number eight was marked next to both Harry’s and Draco’s names. 

“I was going to give you a two," Draco said. 

“Really?” Harry laughed. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because then I would’ve looked like a massive git, that’s why," Draco huffed. “Why did you give me an eight, anyway?”

“I would’ve given you a ten if you hadn’t left out the time Hermione punched you.” 

Draco laughed. 

Harry turned to look at him. It was the first time he had seen Draco laugh like that, not out of mischief. It was nice. His laugh was nice, and... Wait, what?

After forcing himself to think straight again, Harry noticed faint, white lines on Draco's neck In the blue light of the spell. They didn’t quite look like scars, but something very closely related. They looked like they continued down from Draco’s neck to his chest. 

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“What?” Draco looked down at his chest. 

“Something on your…” Harry pointed vaguely at his own neck.

“Oh," Draco said. “I didn’t know they’re still visible.”

“What are they?”

“Scars," Draco said and turned to look at the notebook. “Which date should we put as the new due date?”

“Scars from what?” Harry asked, but at the same time as the words left his mouth, he realized.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Draco said as he noticed Harry staring. “I’m gonna put the due date for Wednesday. That’s not too suspicious.”

“I did that to you," Harry said. “It was me, wasn’t it? When I used _Sectumsempra_ on you.” 

Draco didn’t answer. He glanced at Harry, carefully wrote a new date on top of the old one and put the notebook back in the drawer.

“We don’t need to have this conversation right now," he said as he closed the drawer.

“Yes we do," Harry said. “Draco, I swear I didn’t know what that spell was. I had read it in a stupid book-”

“No," Draco said with a voice that sounded like an order. “Stop talking.” 

“But I-”

“No," Draco repeated and looked at Harry, the _lumos_ reflecting from his eyes giving them a fierce glow. “I’m not taking an apology from you. You had every right to use that spell. I deserved it.”

“Um, no you fucking didn’t," Harry huffed. 

“Yes I did," Draco gnarled. “Or in case you forgot, I was about to use _crucio_ on you when that happened. And did you forget _why_ I was in that bathroom, crying like a little bitch when you found me? That’s right - because I had tried to kill Dumbledore and failed, and cursed Katie Bell in the process.” 

“But it’s not like you wanted to do any of those things-”

“And it’s not like I refused either, is it?” Draco said. “I should’ve let Voldemort kill me. I know I should’ve.” Draco looked away from Harry, and for a moment it was quiet. 

“I had to get this done at a Muggle place”, Draco said, vaguely swaying his arm. The one with the tattoo Harry had seen a few nights ago. “I was scared shitless. They do it with needles and - I’m pretty much I passed out for a minute at some point. Don’t think the guy noticed it though.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He wanted Draco to keep talking, because Harry was seeing bits of emotion on his face that he had never seen before. The way he chewed on the inside of his lip when he wasn’t talking, the way the aggression had vanished from his voice. He was being vulnerable.

“But what can you do," Draco shrugged. “You can’t exactly walk to a Wizard shop with a Dark Mark on your arm and say, ‘it was just a phase’, can you? And the whole time the guy was stabbing ink into my arm and I was looking away and trying not to wail or throw up, I was thinking - I deserve to suffer. Because if I hadn’t been such a fucking coward, if I had just let him kill me… Then there would’ve been nothing to cover up.” 

“If you had let Voldemort kill you, I’d be dead too," Harry said. “And so would all of my friends. And probably that nurse we talked to at St.Mary’s.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“If you had let Voldemort kill you," Harry said, “there would’ve been no one at the manor to lie to Bellatrix that it wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t lie to her," Malfoy said. “I told her I didn’t know if it was you.”

“But that was a lie! Because you did know. And - no, listen to me - if Bellatrix, or Voldemort, or whoever had killed me right there and then, we would’ve lost. So you needed to be there.”

Malfoy shook his head.

“Why are you trying so hard to make it seem like I’m somehow a good person?” 

“Because I think you are," Harry said and realized he really did. “You just weren’t given a choice. Just like I wasn’t. I never had the choice to think about myself - I could have, but then people would’ve died, and it’s not really a choice if the options are your own death and letting people suffer, is it? Both are equally torturous. You just picked one. I picked the other. And we both made the right choice.”

“How can you be so sure?” Draco asked quietly. “That you chose the right one?” 

“Well, we’re still here," Harry said. He let out a sigh that sounded like it came from relief. "We're both still here, Draco."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an angsty one! Chapter 8 will be a lot easier on the feels, I promise. xx


	8. What Harry Had Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Neville and Hermione spend a rainy Saturday indoors. How will Hermione react when Harry finally works up the courage to bring up the topic of Draco Malfoy?

Ron spent the following weekend visiting his parents at the Burrow. He had begged Harry to go with him to cause some kind of distraction whenever the subject of the AT programme came up at the dinner table, but Harry was starting to be so behind on his assignments (mainly due to the two nights he had spent arguing with Malfoy in the Alchemy lab and in professor Skepperus’ office), that he had had no choice but to stay at the college. 

On Saturday morning, after a late breakfast with Neville, Harry started doing some reading for one of his independent courses. Its name, A Closer Look at the B-6 Class of Ministry of Magic Forms Currently in Official Use, was an omen of how mind-numbingly boring the reading materials were. They were written in an overflowingly formal style that was practically begging to come across as pretentious. The text was abundant with complicated words that no one actually used in real life, and Harry found himself reading a sentence and forgetting what it was about by the time he got to the end. When this started happening with every sentence, he tossed the book onto his bed and decided to work on something more practical. 

Harry searched his shoulder bag for a mock-up Ministry form he knew he had been handed in class at some point in the semester, and after pulling out three crumpled up receipts from Muggle coffee shops, a quill he was pretty sure wasn’t even his and a few napkins with abandoned pieces of gum folded inside, he was starting to feel so annoyed at how much useless stuff was in there, that he flipped the bag over, dumping everything onto the floor. 

Harry slid down from his chair, and sitting cross-legged on the floor, started to sort through the pile of papers, chewed-up pencils and erasers that he had poked full of little graphite-coloured dots. Harry flinched as he thought he had seen a spider in between some papers - then, as he noticed it wasn’t moving, he picked it up and in a mixed state of fascination and disgust, tried to figure out what it was. A tiny bezoar? Or maybe a dried-up grape. So, technically a raisin, right? 

Harry was already halfway convinced he should taste it when a sudden clap of thunder and the low rumbling that followed it, distracted him. Harry got up and went to the window. Dark clouds loomed over Paddington, and just as Harry was about to turn away, a massive rainfall hit the ground. The sound it produced was so deafening that Harry went to look for Neville, unexplainably excited as was often the case with humans when it came to unexpected weather changes.

Harry found Neville and Hermione knitting in the living room. They were sitting side by side on the tartan sofa that was so faded it seemed to possess no perceivable colour whatsoever. 

“It’s raining," Harry stated, although there was no way the two wouldn’t have already noticed with the way the rain was pounding against the windows. 

“And thundering too," Neville said, placing the nearly finished-looking sock in his lap. “Did you hear it?”

“Yeah," Harry said as he sat down in one of the two armchairs. The leather was so old that it didn’t let out a squeak. “How are the socks coming along?”

“These are the last ones," Neville said with an excited face. “Hermione and I have been making them all week. Oh, wait - I’ll show you.” Neville got up, careful not to mess up the blanket that had been covering both his and Hermione’s legs. He went into his room and came back holding one of his legged pots. 

“See?” He said, placing it on the ground. Harry and Neville watched as it scampered around the rug in small circles, the basil plant it was holding swaying as if in excitement. 

“Oh no," Harry said and covered his mouth with his palms in an effort to control the flood of emotions the little pot with woollen socks awakened in him. 

“Adorable, isn’t it?” Neville laughed and picked up the pot. “Oh, by the way - I’m going to the Owlery for a bit, should I check if you guys have any mail?”

“Oh please," Hermione said, apparently having just fastened off another sock. “I’m waiting for a response from the Prophet.” 

“Ah, for the thing. Yeah, I’ll check”, Neville said.

“What thing?” Harry asked after Neville had left.

“I sent one of my essays to the Daily Prophet," Hermione said as she gathered loose bits of yarn from her lap. “I don’t really know why - there wasn’t a competition going on or anything, but…”

“What was it about?”

“The misuse of Amortentia," Hermione said. “Healers have been saying for years now that it should be made illegal but no one at the Ministry is listening. It’s pretty unbelievable when you think about it - it’s practically designed for sexual assault and they teach _kids_ how to brew it at Hogwarts.”

“Uh- yeah," Harry said and felt a sudden need to talk to someone about everything that had happened with Draco Malfoy. 

“I hope they publish it," Harry said instead. “Honestly. Like, consent is a thing and all...”

“Right?” Hermione said, her eyes wide. She sighed, and her shoulders fell a bit. “Someone understands at least," she said. “I talked about it to Ron, but he thinks making it downright illegal would be overreacting.”

“Well, Ron grew up as a wizard," Harry said, leaning back in the armchair. “It probably seems more normal to him than it does to us.”

“It shouldn’t be normal to anyone," Hermione huffed.

“Yeah. He’ll support you on it though. He was mesmerized after listening to one of your speeches. I’m pretty sure you could convince him not to watch Quidditch ever again if you wanted.”

Hermione chuckled and tucked a curly strand of hair behind her ear. 

“He isn’t… doing so well with school," Harry said, his smile fading. “I had to help him with Charms last week.”

Hermione sighed. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed," she said. “He won’t admit it, but…”

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into him," Harry said, feeling unexpected frustration trying to make its way out. “He used to be good at Charms when we were in Hogwarts. I know he’s trying but - is he? Like, is he really?” 

“I think," Hermione started, fiddling with her bracelet, “I think I know what’s troubling him.”

“Oh?” Harry said, raising his eyes to Hermione.

“I don’t think he really wants to be an Auror.”

Harry looked down. Hermione had said what he had been thinking for a long time now, but had been reluctant to say to anyone. 

“Yeah," Harry sighed. “It honestly seems like he’s only doing it to try and make his parents proud.”

“Which is so unnecessary," Hermione exclaimed. “They’re putting so much pressure on him for literally no reason! He already defeated Voldemort with us, what more do they want?” 

“I think a lot of it is just in his head too," Harry said. “He keeps talking about how all his brothers are better than him and how he never gets attention and - right, I know I’m not the best person to say this, but who ever said he has to be more famous and successful than his brothers?” 

“Exactly," Hermione said. She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, I help him as much as I can but lately he won’t even let me do that.”

“You can’t fix it for him," Harry said. “I think we’ll just have to let him figure this one out on his own.”

“Maybe you’re right," Hermione sighed. “It’s still frustrating.”

A silence filled with rainfall, a flash of lightning and a thunderclap followed. Harry hesitated. His chest felt tight with nervousness, but there was really no better time than the present, right? It was just him and Hermione, at least for a short moment still before Neville would return from the Owlery. 

“I’ve been talking to Draco Malfoy," Harry said, forcing the sentence out without inhaling first.

“Oh," Hermione said, her brows lifting slightly. “About what?”

“A lot of stuff," Harry said. “About what happened during the war and what he’s been up to since then… He’s really changed, you know.” 

“Oh?” Hermione tilted her head and then nodded, encouraging Harry to continue talking.

“He’s - he’s a lot nicer for starters," Harry said, letting out a small laugh, “and he doesn’t hate Muggles anymore. And, he feels really bad for a lot of the things he did - or, well, he’s wishing he hadn’t done them in the first place is what I meant. He looks different too. More relaxed, I guess.”

“Sounds like you’ve spent quite a lot of time with him," Hermione said in an annoyingly neutral tone that didn’t give Harry any clues as to what she was thinking.

“Well, not a _lot_ ," Harry said. “We’ve talked in class and spent a little time… a couple of times, outside of class too.”

Hermione smiled. “Kind of like friends do?” 

“Well, I," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I guess it’s more like, I keep pestering him and he puts up with it.” 

“But he isn’t being mean to you, right?”

“No, no. Well, he _is_ kind of moody and tense but not… not like he used to be. He wouldn’t call you the m-word anymore. Sometimes it almost feels like he- I guess _cares_ is a strong word - but… yeah. It seems like he does.” 

“And we _are_ talking about the same Draco Malfoy that tried to kill Dumbledore? And who tried to use an unforgivable curse on you?” 

“Well… Yeah.”

“Alright. Just checking," Hermione said and smiled. “Don’t look so grim, Harry. We’re practically adults now. It’s okay if you want to be friends with him. In fact, I think it’s pretty admirable if the two of you can somehow meet in the middle after everything that happened.”

“Really?” Harry asked. He looked at Hermione, unsure of why his heart was beating so fast for her approval. “It’s not just you being diplomatic?”

Hermione let out a little laugh, that despite all of Harry’s inspection, didn’t look forced. 

“It’s me being your friend," she said. 

Harry smiled.

“Although," he said, “I don’t really know if Draco wants to be friends with me.”

“I would guess he does.”

“Why?” Harry said, surprised. 

“You’re joking, right?” Hermione laughed. “He was practically begging for your attention at Hogwarts. I swear not a single class went by where he didn’t try to pull some stunt to get a reaction out of you.”

“That’s because he didn’t like me, Hermione.” 

“What makes you so sure?” Hermione asked, leaning forward on the sofa. She had a smug smile in the corner of her mouth. “What do you do when you don’t like someone, Harry?” 

“Well, I guess I try to avoid them as much as...” Harry stopped talking when he realized what Hermione meant. He leaned on his palm and smiled into it.

“Exactly," Hermione said. “I think he bullied you because he was trying to make himself look better after what happened before we went into the Great Hall. On the day we all first met, remember?”

“You mean when I didn’t shake his hand?” 

“Well, that, and also what happened before," Hermione said.

Harry frowned. He didn’t remember what had happened before.

“You mean, on the train?”

“No," Hermione said. “Just before you didn’t shake his hand. He came up to you - Ron and I were standing next to you - to introduce himself.”

“And then he started to make fun of Ron for being a Weasley," Harry said.

“No, Harry”, Hermione said. “Don’t you remember? Draco said his name and Ron laughed at him.”

“He did?” Harry said. “I don’t remember that at all. Why would he have laughed?”

“He thought Draco’s name sounded stupid," Hermione sighed, clearly embarrassed for her boyfriend's behalf. “So it was really Ron who started it.” 

Harry made a face that could only be described as a visual representation of “well… damn”.

“Well, anyway," Hermione said and stood up, “I should go. I’ll try to find Neville at the Owlery to see what’s taking him so long, and then I’ll have to start working on a few assignments.” 

“Alright," Harry said. “Guess I should get back to work, too.” 

Harry walked Hermione to the door. 

“Hey," Harry said just as she stepped over the doorstep, “could you… not mention to Ron about Malfoy and I being friends?”

“Okay," Hermione said with a confused tone. “But why?”

“I don’t know," Harry said, shrugging. “I just have a feeling he would be kind of a dick about it, you know? And I don’t want to get into a whole argument about it, at least not yet. It’s not like Draco and I are _that_ close.”

“You did just call him Draco," Hermione pointed out. “So you don’t want Ron to know that you want to be friends with Draco?” 

“I - I guess so," Harry admitted.

Hermione sighed.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to, but I honestly don’t see the point. We aren't children anymore. You’re allowed to be friends with whoever you want as long as they’re not hurting you.” 

“Yeah," Harry said. “I guess you’re right. But, I’ll tell him myself, okay?”

“Sure," Hermione said. She gave Harry a quick hug and left. 

Harry walked back into his room only to find the mess he had left on the floor earlier. The mystery raisin lay in the middle of it, its aura judgemental. Harry ignored it, collapsed onto the bed and spent the rest of the evening procrastinating.

It was already dark when Harry heard a quiet clink from his window. He thought he had imagined it, but then he heard it again. Harry put down the comic he had been reading, got up and saw a small paper crane poking at his window while flapping its wings frantically. Harry quickly opened the window to let it in, and the crane fluttered onto Harry's bed before going limp. Harry took it into his hands and noticed it was all damp from the rain. He carefully unfolded it, trying not to tear the paper. There was something written on it.

_Yesterday in class I watched you spell "necessary" wrong three times. It's not neseccary, or necesary, or nesessary. Think about it like this - a shirt has one collar and two sleeves. One c, two s's, right? Necessary._

_PS. I had to relearn how to fold cranes just for this. Be grateful._

Harry read the note over and over again, his smile spreading so wide that he eventually covered it with his palm. Even though he was alone. What was this feeling?


	9. What Draco Never Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco wakes Harry up in the middle of the night and learns an important lesson about friendship.

Harry woke up on Monday morning at 4AM to another paper crane behind his window. He turned on the light, got out of bed, fairly sure he was dreaming it all, and opened the window. The crane crashed into the floor and flopped there like a fish on dry ground until Harry picked it up. He unfolded it and squinted at the blurred lines. He then realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses. After finding them on his desk and putting them on, he could read the note.

_I need to talk to you about something._

_Courtyard_

Harry blinked and read it again a couple of times, just to make sure. Draco wanted him to go to the courtyard… right now? Harry shivered at the cold air coming in through the open window. He closed it, his limbs feeling weak from not yet being properly awake. He looked at the note again, turning it over and upside down, but there was no more writing on it. 

Confused as to what else he was supposed to do, he started look for clothes to wear. He somehow managed to put on his red hoodie the wrong way around twice before getting it right. He also put on his winter coat and a hat Hermione had knitted for him the previous Christmas, expecting it to be freezing outside. He then pocketed his wand and sneaked out of the apartment. 

Harry had been right - it was cold outside to the extent where it almost felt disgusting, especially to Harry who was still a bit groggy from being woken up in the middle of the night. Harry saw Draco standing under a lamp post with his arms crossed, his hands tucked under the armpits as if to preserve some warmth. As Harry walked up to him, he noticed Draco’s cheeks and nose were flushed.

“Merlin, Draco," Harry said. “It’s freezing out here. How long have you been standing there?” 

Draco turned to look at Harry, and Harry couldn't quite read his expression.

“Come on," he said, his words turning into a white fog and floating away as they came in contact with the frosty air. He started walking towards the small gate that connected the courtyard with the outside world. The gate could be opened only by casting Alohomora and saying the correct password to the gargoyle that was guarding it from the nearby column, all this ensuring that no Muggle could ever walk through it. 

“Did something happen?” Harry asked as he followed Draco. “Are you alright?”

“Stop worrying," Draco said (as if it were so easy, Harry thought) as he turned to look at the gargoyle. “ _Glacial geckos_.”

After making it to the other side of the gate they walked for a bit. Harry didn’t really see the point in asking where they were going as he was going to find out soon enough anyway. Draco was walking pretty swiftly and his pace gave Harry some reassurance. No one walked with that kind of intent while they were upset. 

They arrived to a Muggle coffee shop that looked like it was open 24 hours a day. Draco held open the door for Harry as they went in. 

“I’m not drinking anything," Draco said. He handed Harry two one pound coins. “Go get yourself some tea and come sit down.”

Harry shrugged mentally and did as he was told. The place was dingy and tea was only fifty pence, so Harry got a cup of that and a coffee for Draco. 

Draco was sitting by the table in the very furthest corner next to the window. Harry handed him the coffee along with the change and sat down. Draco held the mug between his palms, and his fingers started to slowly change colours from what looked like frostbite, to a more healthy-looking tone. 

“So, I-”

“Did I do something?” Harry asked. They both went quiet after talking over each other.

Draco opened his mouth but all that came out at first was a disbelieving fragment of an exhale.

“ _Did you do somethin_ _g_ \- are you on crack?” He then asked, raising his eyebrows. “Are you _actually_ on crack?”

Harry let out a nervous laugh.

“Well - _did_ I do something?”

“No," Draco said, his eyes wide. “Why do you have to be like that?”

“Like what?” 

“Man, you're making this really difficult for me.” 

“Hey, I got out of bed, I followed you here - whatever you want to say, I’m not leaving before you finish saying it.” Harry tried his best to sound like they weren’t in a very peculiar situation.

About five seconds of silence. Harry watched as greasy bits of film floated around on the surface of his tea.

“Do you know why I always hated you?” Draco asked and sipped his coffee. The bridge of his nose crinkled at the taste.

Harry was a little taken aback.

“I- I don’t know. Why did you?”

“Because every time I saw your face, you reminded me of all the things I didn’t have the courage to do. You’re even doing it now. I dragged you out of bed so I could apologize to you, and the first thing you do is ask if you did something wrong.” 

Harry raised his brows.

“You brought me here because you want to apologize to me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay," Harry said, nodding. “But why in the middle of the night?”

“Because I’m a selfish bastard, that's why. I felt so guilty I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t come up with anything else that would make it better. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted," Harry said, smiling a little. 

“Harry," Draco sighed. “That wasn’t the apology. That was me saying sorry I woke you up in the middle of the night.”

“Oh.” Draco using his first name still playing in his ears, Harry straightened his posture and took a deep breath. “Well, let’s hear it then. What’s keeping you up?”

Draco was quiet for a long time. He was looking down at his hands on the table. 

“Everything," he then said with a voice that didn’t sound quite like his own.

Harry’s eyes widened a little as Draco raised his gaze and looked at him. His eyes had turned bloodshot, and a tear escaped the left one, though Draco quickly wiped it away. 

“All the bullshit I came up with to make your life more difficult than it already was," he said. “And everything I could’ve done to make it easier but didn’t.” 

“Draco-”

“No," Draco said and looked at Harry. “No. You don’t get to pretend it was all okay, because it wasn’t. And I’m sorry.”

Harry looked at Draco and then turned his gaze to the window. It was so dark outside he could only see his reflection from it.

“I wasn’t going to say it was all okay," Harry said. “You’re probably right. A lot of things in my life would have been a lot easier if I hadn’t spent so much time obsessing over you.”

Draco frowned, as this clearly wasn't the response he had been expecting.

“I was always convinced you were up to something," Harry said, letting out a little laugh. “You wouldn’t believe the times I followed you places to see what you were doing.”

Outside the pitch-blackness had slowly started turning navy blue. 

“And I won’t deny it, you did some of the meanest, pettiest things I’ve ever seen in my life," Harry continued. “But when I first met you at Madam Malkin’s ten years ago, you tried to make conversation. Sure you sounded like a prick, but I mean… You were trying your best.”

“My best was always pretty pathetic.” 

“But, you know, I can’t really blame you for all of it," Harry said, turning to look at Draco again. “We can’t choose the way we’re brought up.” 

“I wish we could," Draco said. “I really fucking wish we could. And the worst thing is, it doesn’t even bother me the most how I treated you, but that I never… I never had real friends. And I’d look at you and Granger and Weasley doing everything together and I tried, I tried _so_ hard to understand it. How it all worked, because all I ever learned how to do was keep up appearances and take advantage of people, and the way that you guys just seemed like you… were _there_ for each other, it made me feel so empty inside because I knew I was missing out on something I wasn’t even capable of.”

Harry looked as Draco as he spoke of things he had probably never talked to anyone about in his life, and couldn’t help but to feel sorry for him, despite everything.

“And it never made sense, not even in the beginning. All the things I had been taught about how the world worked, how I was special and my family was better than other families, and how money and reputation were all that really mattered in the end… Ever since I started going to Hogwarts I became more and more confused by it. Because I knew- I saw it happening, I saw how completely and utterly wrong my father was, but I just couldn’t… Because that would have meant he lied to me, and no one wants to think their father lies to them. And at some point I realized he was lying to himself too, and I started noticing how weak he really was and I was terrified, because before that he had been…” There was a tremble in Draco’s voice. “He had been my hero, you know? And sure he beat me and screamed at me and made me feel like shit about every little thing, but it was all alright until I realized it wasn’t.” 

Harry let Draco’s words hang in the air for a moment.

“Draco," he then said. “Would you like to be my friend?” Maybe it was what they both secretly wanted. Maybe. Harry hoped.

Draco turned to look at Harry with a frown. 

“What?”

“Be my friend," Harry said. 

“But," Draco said, “That's not what- I dragged you here to listen to me wailing about my problems like some-”

“Draco," Harry said. “I’m now going to teach you something very important about friendship, so listen closely.” 

Draco listened.

“Making me listen to you wailing about your problems is exactly what you’re supposed to do," Harry said. “Only," he said, raising his index finger, “you have to return the favour. Even if I come throwing pebbles on your window in the middle of the night, because frankly I don’t know how to fold one of those damned cranes. You have to listen to me rant about the same things over and over again. You have to let me screw up and realize it afterwards and comfort me even though you told me so. When I’m being a dick you have to call me out on it, and if I don’t listen you have to make me listen. When someone dies, you have to sit with me through the funeral without me saying a single word and choke-slam anyone who tries to talk to me two feet deep into the ground. And when I’m happy, you have to let me be happy even if you secretly don’t agree with everything I do. And when you’re panicking and spiralling and thinking _this_ is the time you won’t make it out of it alive, you have to let me be there for you. And even when you or I fail to do all of that we have to work it out, no matter how hard it is, because that’s what friends do.”

Draco stared at Harry.

“Deal?” Harry said and held out his hand. 

Draco hesitated.

"Do you forgive me?" He asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "I forgive you."

“Then deal," Draco said and took Harry's hand. “Took you long enough.”

“What?”

“To shake my hand. Left me hanging for ten years.” 

Harry smiled.

"How's the coffee?"

"Like tar with a little piss in it if I'm being perfectly honest."

Harry laughed.

Outside the sun was rising.


	10. Draco's List of Do Nots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds himself entertaining some peculiar thoughts about The Boy Who Lived.

Harry Potter was sleeping in class. Draco kept glancing at him when the other students were being loud and when the token, distant scream that no one ever got any explanation for, echoed in the hallway. No noise seemed to be obnoxious enough to disturb Potter’s sleep, though. He had crossed his arms on the table and was resting his head on them, his face completely hidden within the mane of hair that he sometimes wore in a rather endearing looking bun. 

Draco was taking notes while professor Skepperus talked. He had taken Potter’s notebook from his bag while he slept, and was now writing down names of the most common poisons and their antidotes both in Potter’s notebook and his own. It was the sort of topic that Draco was already very familiar with, more so than he liked to admit. Bezoar, he wrote in his notebook and then Potter’s. 

He noticed his handwriting subtly change every time he switched the page on which he was writing on. He usually wrote in rounded, small letters using soft pressure, leaving generous space in between the words in case he needed to tweak something later. Whenever he started writing in Potter’s notebook and saw his pointed, squeezed-together letters that overlapped each other, sometimes so much so that the words became impossible to decipher, he started to suddenly make mistakes he usually wouldn't have, and his writing started to unexplainably and stubbornly slant to the left.

Draco threw a quick look at the front of the class and noticed Skepperus approaching, chatting with the students as he passed their desks. He wouldn’t have noticed Harry sleeping all the way from the front, but that was bound to change any second now.

“Potter," Draco whispered. “Potter!” He quickly placed Potter’s notebook on top of his head. He startled awake and caught the notebook in his hands just in time before Skepperus stopped in front of their desks.

“Ah," the professor said in his ancient and profoundly British dialect that reeked of old money and race horses, “how are the young gentlemen doing?”

Potter looked at Skepperus with a face that unmistakebly belonged to a person who had just woken up. Nothing seemed to yet be happening behind the eyes. 

“Yeah," Harry said. 

Professor Skepperus blinked.

“So, I had a question about poisonous candles," Draco rushed to say.

“Poisonous candles?” Skepperus repeated, sounding intrigued. “What about them?” 

“How can one tell them apart from regular candles?” Draco made up as he spoke. He could see from the corner of his eye that Potter was looking at him.

“Well, I suppose you mean without lighting them and seeing if the fumes they produce are toxic," Skepperus said and scratched the top of his head. 

“Well… yes," Draco said, trying not to smile. 

Skepperus muttered something to himself and looked as if he was going through files at the very furthest corners of his memory.

“I suppose there was nothing on them in your books?”

“No," Draco said. He knew that without even checking, because the only place he had ever heard someone talk about poisoned candles had been at a shop in Knockturn Alley, a few doors down from Borgin and Burkes. 

“I say," Skepperus said and started slowly turning away. “How to tell them apart…” He looked as if he had gotten lost inside his thoughts as he wandered to the front of the class. 

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Harry snorted.

“Man, that is going to _haunt_ him," he said and then yawned while rubbing his other eye, his glasses politely making way. “I hope you didn’t actually want to know about poisoned candles.”

“If I did, Skepperus wouldn’t be the first person I’d ask," Draco said. “Did you pull an all-nighter again or is it just the fame tiring you?” 

“Good one," Harry laughed. “But yeah, just found out yesterday that Ron and I are having a Practical Examination in a few days with the AT group. So, yeah, I was cramming.” 

“What’s there to cram?” Draco asked, ignoring Skepperus and the sounds of chairs being moved as the class was dismissed. “You know how to defend yourself.”

“Myself, for sure," Harry nodded, “but this isn’t about me. Aurors have this whole protocol you’re supposed to stick to - like, say, a woman comes up to you asking for help, saying she’s been cursed but nothing looks or sounds like there's something obviously wrong with her, so you have to find out what’s going on. There’s a certain set of questions you’re supposed to ask someone like that, and a set course of action depending on what they answer.”

“What are the questions then?”

“See, that’s my problem," Harry said as they gathered their things, “I have no idea.”

Then began the ritual that had taken place after every Magical Injury class for the past two weeks. Harry and Draco would walk out of the classroom after everyone had already left, talking about something and then kind of awkwardly linger in the hallway, unaware of where the other one was planning to go and if it was in the same direction of the other’s destination, or perhaps if they would go somewhere together. 

This time it didn’t last very long, as just after Harry was finished talking about the funeral he and his friends had held for one of Longbottom’s legged flower pots that had ran into the hallway and fallen down the stairs, he looked at Draco, nodded to his right and said: “Come on. I know a place we can chill at for a while.”

Walking to places with Potter on campus still felt kind of surreal. This was college so no one actually cared that much, but they had definitely received some prolonged looks from a few Hogwarts alumni who had then started whispering amongst their friend groups. Draco knew what they must have been thinking - that Potter was noble for allowing himself to be seen in that kind of company. 

And yet despite this, Draco was secretly relieved and even a little excited to finally have someone to talk to. He had spent the first year pretty much in his dorm, studying and failing miserably whenever he tried to cook something for himself, only coming out for classes and occasionally at night to brew himself Calming Drought when he couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t expected his second year at Darthorn to be any different, and it was actually kind of baffling how fast things had changed. Just because of a small coincidence - hadn’t Draco been late that first morning, he wouldn’t have been assigned a seat next to Potter, and none of this would have happened. 

“Why wasn’t anyone already sitting next to you?” Draco asked. Potter had taken him to the dorms building and was now holding the front door open for him. Draco wondered if they were on their way to Potter’s dorm. The thought made him nervous.

“When?” Harry asked as they started climbing up the stairs.

“On the first day at Magical Injury," Draco said, realizing he had forgotten to give Harry any kind of context as to what he was talking about.

“I don’t know," Harry said. “Ron usually sits next to me, so I guess people just assumed he was down with something.” 

They had been climbing, floor after floor after floor, and had already passed both Draco’s and Potter’s dorms. Draco now had a feeling they were going to the roof, but he was starting to be too out of breath to ask.

“We’re almost there," Harry said. “Just one more floor.” 

As Harry pushed open the heavy door that guarded the exit to the roof, the two felt a welcome, cool breeze greeting them. It was one of those days where it was sunny one minute and cloudy the next, and shadows of clouds passing by were calmly floating across the roof. It was apparent that the charms that made Darthorn suitable to wizard tastes didn’t extend to this place, as it looked like it was made out of nothing but concrete and gray metal, two very essential features when it came to Muggle architecture, Draco had noticed. He didn’t understand nor enjoy it, but over the years he had gotten a little more interested in who he was with as opposed to where he was. 

Potter took off his uniform jacket that was meant to be worn done-up but Potter never did, revealing a black long-sleeve that despite having the Darthorn symbol on it, obviously wasn’t part of the uniform. Harry rolled up the sleeves, dropped his bag and jacket on the floor and stretched his arms, letting out one of those sounds that people make when they stretch after sitting down for too long. It was at this point where Draco caught himself staring, and quickly turned to look away. He loosened his tie.

“I lied," Harry said, and Draco had a sudden sinking feeling. 

“About what?”

“I do know why no one was sitting next to me," Harry said as he sat down, leaning his back against the door. “I guess I kind of assumed you did too.”

“Oh?” Draco said and sat down next to Harry. He wasn’t sure why, but his first reaction had been to think that Harry would now proceed to tell him he’d rather kiss a Dementor than be friends with him. 

“There was a rumour going around that I somehow lost it after the war," Harry said. “Which, I mean - it isn’t true, but I also was at St Mungo’s for a couple months and the Prophet obviously made it into a whole thing… I don’t know, after a while I just stopped caring and let people believe what they want.”

Draco frowned.

“What the fuck though? You _literally_ killed you-know-who.”  
“Well, what can you do? That’s old news now," Harry said, shrugging in a sarcastic defeat. 

“It’s not though," Draco huffed. “You should be allowed to run around London in a bathrobe and hand out little hats to people or do whatever the fuck you want without those cretins at the Prophet pretending like it’s somehow their business.” 

Harry laughed. 

“Can you imagine though?” He said, gesturing in front of himself like creating an imaginary picture. “Me just, looking like an absolute crackhead on the cover of the Prophet with a headline like, ‘The Boy Who Lived To Flash Oncoming Traffic on Regent Street’.”

Draco snorted into a laugh.

“Thirty-seven Muggles obliviated," he said, making Harry squeal in laughter.

“Critics say Muggles wouldn’t have thought it was anything out of the ordinary," Harry wheezed. They laughed so hard at the thought they were both practically crying, adding ridiculous details to the story until it all came too much to bear.

“Oh jesus fuck," Harry breathed, wiping his eyes. Draco felt the last bit of giggle escape him, and then Harry turned to look at him. Something was in the air that hadn’t been there before, and it made them both look away before giving whatever it was a chance to become so obvious they’d have to talk about it. 

“When do you have that exam you talked about?” Draco asked to try to get Harry talking, quickly. A restlessness was taking over him - not an unpleasant one, but it was certainly of a nature that Draco didn’t want to give encouragement to. It had happened to him before, many years ago, upon many different occasions, and he knew exactly how to deal with it.

Don’t look at Harry Potter at lunch in the Great Hall when he’s laughing with his friends. Don’t think about the way his hair sticks up on its own before you go to sleep. Never write his name when you doodle on parchment scraps. Not even just to see how it would look in your handwriting. And when the image of the way his forearms look when he rolls up his sleeves creeps into your thoughts when you’re touching yourself, think about something else. Anything else, but not him. Not his voice, not the veins on his hands, not even his shadow. Not him. 


	11. The Gay Agenda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry receives some well overdue sex education.

After spending about an hour with Draco on the rooftop of the dorms building, Harry returned downstairs to his dorm. He was in a good mood from the amount of laughter that had taken place, but also a little confused. In awe was maybe a better word for it. He frankly hadn’t expected Draco to be so fun to be around. Especially the way he seemed to have gotten genuinely angry for Harry, when Harry had told him about the articles the Prophet had written about him during his stay at St Mungo’s, had made Harry feel oddly warm and fuzzy inside. Not that Ron and Hermione’s reaction had been significantly different, but something about the way Draco had called the reporters cretins made Harry smile every time he thought about it. 

Despite all this, Harry had found himself feeling simultaneously happy and awfully restless after every time he had spent time with Draco lately, and he couldn’t quite grasp why. Today the feeling had taken over him while he had still been _with_ Draco, and somehow Harry felt that Draco had noticed it too. Not only that, but lately Harry had caught himself staring at him. Not to somehow figure him out like before, but just… out of the pure joy of looking at him. 

It was pretty much established in Harry’s head at this point that he thought Draco was handsome. Which was normal, because it wasn’t as if, just because he was straight he couldn’t appreciate another guy’s beauty. He thought of it as beauty, because there was something very delicate about Draco’s harshness. Like the way his brows moved ever so slightly closer together creating a little worried-looking wrinkle in between when he was concentrating on something. And there was that hint of something blue, something absent-minded and gently mournful in the gray of his eyes whenever he was deep in his thoughts, probably not aware that Harry was looking. And all that made the way his face transformed when he was laughing a hundred times more delightful to look. Draco’s laugh was boyish and genuine and Harry loved it because it always sounded like the laugh of someone who was laughing for the first time in their life. 

Harry now discovered that had been standing in the middle of his room for a while, fiddling mindlessly with a lock of hair that was just long enough for him to press it in between his lips. He wondered if anyone was home - he didn’t remember seeing anyone when he had walked in. He desperately wanted to talk to someone about - not necessarily about Draco in specific, but… Actually, yes, specifically about Draco, Harry realized as he sat down on his bed. But what was there to talk about? Well, besides the way, the way he was. What he was like, and how Harry hadn’t realized it before, and how Harry sometimes got this burning feeling in his chest whenever Draco did that thing where he, he didn’t chew on pencils like Harry did, but just kind of gently held the end of one between his teeth, or dragged it on his lower lip, before all of a sudden deciding on a word and continuing writing. 

Harry decided to go see if Dean was in his room. He was an art major and into men in more ways than just aesthetic, so surely he wouldn’t think Harry was out of his mind for thinking Draco was kind of… bewitching to look at? Harry passed through the hallway and knocked on Dean’s door. He heard the sound of someone getting out of bed, but it was Seamus instead of Dean that opened the door. He was in sweatpants and a T-shirt and essentially looked like he was enjoying a day of doing absolutely nothing.

“Oh- hi," Harry said. He threw a quick look at Dean’s room over Seamus’ shoulder, but could see no sign of Dean other than that the room was pretty organized, apart from the bed which was full of CDs and a portable CD-player that, judging by the amount of Kenmare Kestrels stickers on it, belonged to Seamus. Seamus glanced behind him.

“I’ve made bags of this room haven’t I," Seamus laughed. “Dean’s in class and I’m bunking off, and I just got the bright idea that I should make a mixtape for him.”

“That’s pretty romantic of you," Harry said. 

“I have my moments," Seamus admitted. “Wanna come in?”

Harry was sitting on Dean’s writing desk chair and watching as Seamus was writing down names of songs he was considering for the mixtape. 

“So, how’s it going over at AT?” Seamus asked.

“Can’t really complain," Harry said. “I mean, it’s kind of draining every drop of energy out of me but I’m also just really lucky to be there.”

“No kidding," Seamus said. “Ron’s pretty shattered every time I see him these days. Do you reckon he’ll drop out eventually?” 

“I hope not," Harry said but decided it was best to keep to himself what he really thought was going to happen. He decided to change the subject, although what he had in mind wasn’t exactly less uneasy than Ron’s poor success in the AT programme.

“When did you know you were into guys?” He asked. 

Seamus glanced up at him, and to Harry’s relief he didn’t seem to be bemused by the question.

“Ah, probably around the fourth time Dean and I had made out," Seamus said. He made a smug face. “You thinking of hopping over to the dark side?” 

Harry forced a laugh.

“No, man, just… Curious.”

Seamus looked at him for a moment and said: “There’s a way you can tell, you know.”

“Tell what?”

“If you’re gay," Seamus said. “Like a test. It’s real simple too.”

“What, like, fucking a guy?” Harry laughed.

“Nah mate, nothing like that. I can do it to you if you want - don’t even have to touch you or anything.”

“Um - okay," Harry said. He heard the distant creak of the front door being opened and could tell from the humming that it was Dean. The guy had a habit of constantly bobbing his head and mouthing lyrics of songs, as if there was always a wrock concert going on inside his dead.

“ ‘Kay," Seamus said and placed his palms on his knees, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring closely at Harry. “Look me in the eye.” 

“Okay," Harry said, letting out an amused laugh. He looked into Seamus’ eyes, and they were was squinting at him as if Seamus was evaluating Harry somehow.

“Cock," Seamus then said without blinking. Harry frowned and smiled at the same time, not really knowing how to react.

“Pupils dilated," Seamus said and got up. “Dean, is that you baby? We got a situation over here. Seems like Potter’s playing for the rainbow team.”

“Wait, what?” Harry said, not really knowing whether to worry or laugh.

“Ah it’s too late now, you didn’t pass the test," Seamus said, still not breaking his what Harry really hoped was a just an insanely good poker face, and went into the hallway. “Dean? Ah it is you, good. Get your perky ass over here, we got a C-69 with some serious denial issues.”

“A what?” Harry said.

“Just the code for ‘gay as fuck’ in the gay agenda," Seamus said as he returned with an amused- looking Dean.

“You know he’s just fucking with you, right?” Dean said to Harry as he sat down on the bed after moving some of the CDs out of the way. 

“Uh- yeah," Harry laughed. “Obviously.”

Dean looked at Harry. 

“Oh damn, he really do be looking kinda gay," he then said to Seamus who was leaning on to the doorframe, clearly pleased with himself. 

"Oh come on," Harry laughed. He knew by now that it all had to be a joke. Seamus snorted and burst into laughter.

"You should've seen his face," Seamus wheezed, "I think he really thought, for a second he really thought…"

Dean smiled at Harry in a way that was half amused, half apologetic.

"Honestly, I don't know what it is with straight boys," Seamus said, wiping the corner of his eye. "They're all _so_ scared that they're somehow secretly gay. Like, as if they wouldn't have noticed."

Harry remembered how relieved Ron had been when Dean had once said to him it was pretty obvious he was straight.

"It doesn't really scare me," Harry noted. "I mean, I know I'm straight. I date women."

"Well, there's always bisexuals," Dean pointed out.

Harry blinked.

"Bisexuals," Dean repeated, staring at Harry. "Like, people who swing both ways."

"Oh," Harry said. He thought about it for a moment. "But it probably doesn't count if there's just _one_ guy? Who I'm not dating, I just think he's kind of, cute. When he isn't sneering."

Dean and Seamus were now both staring at Harry.

"So what you're saying is, you have a crush on a guy," Dean said. 

"Well I don't, I don't really know if I'd call it a crush. I just really, like him."

"But the way you like him, you don't like Ron, right?" Dean asked. "There's gotta be a reason you brought this guy up in the first place."

Harry thought about it. No, he had never had a problem where he had found himself thinking of Ron all the time. But surely that alone didn't mean that he was into guys?

"Or like, would you snog him?" Dean said.

Harry frowned. He hadn't really thought about making out with Draco, but now he did, and now that he _was_ thinking about it, he felt his blood rush into very inconvenient places considering where he was. He imagined kissing Draco out of the blue. Draco definitely wouldn’t kiss him back, Harry thought. More like beat the shit out of him, or at least try to. But if he _would_ kiss back… He was a bit taller than Harry was, and now that Harry really put some thought into it, he realized he probably would get pinned against a wall or something.

At this point Harry was well aware that he was turning bright red in the face.

Dean and Seamus were looking at him with more anticipation than Harry had ever been subjected to in his life. 

“Uh," Harry said. “What was the question again?”

Seamus gasped.

"The bi who lived!" He exclaimed, pointing at Harry.

Dean burst into laughter, and Harry was looking at him, but in his mind he was also still snogging Draco and mildly panicking over how intriguing the thought was. 

He was fine with the thought of not being straight, but he also remembered how Ron had reacted when he had found out about Dean and Seamus’ relationship. Gross, he had said. Harry got scared and tried to turn back, return to the Harry that hadn’t just kissed Draco in his thoughts, but it was too late. 

How was he supposed to act around Draco now? Was he just, supposed to pretend that he wasn’t questioning his sexuality over him? It wasn’t as if he could just casually tell him he found him attractive. Right?

Harry had a feeling he was about to walk into something as much catastrophic as it was alluring.


	12. Neville's Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The giraffe animagus in the portrait knows of a secret and can't keep the information to himself any longer. One can only hope he will tell the right people about what happened...

Despite Harry being extremely worried that his next encounter with Draco would be filled with weird tension and awkwardness, things seemed perfectly normal when Harry saw him in class the next day. Actually, he forgot all about his conversation with Dean and Seamus when Draco sat down next to him and started talking about how difficult it was to make Polyjuice Potion. 

“The leeches are the worst part," Draco said. “And I had to touch four of them! Merlin, they make me sick.” Draco pulled out a notebook from his bag. “I swear, if it doesn’t work again I’ll dump the leech tank into the Thames so at least they’ll have to find replacements before the professor can bother me about it again.”

“What went wrong last time?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know," Draco huffed. “Professor Abboud said it could be that I was using a copper cauldron, but even she couldn’t be sure.”

“Maybe we should ask Hermione," Harry said. “She's brewed it a couple of times. First time was in year two, although that time it didn’t work for very long.” 

“Year two?” Draco said. “Granger made Polyjuice Potion in _year two_? At Hogwarts or Darthorn?” 

“Hogwarts," Harry said. A grin spread across his face. “Want to know why?”

“To be honest, I’d be more interested in hearing how the hell she pulled that off. Year two… Are you sure you’re not just fucking with me?”

“Oh I’m sure," Harry said. “See, Ron and I used the Polyjuice Potion to transform into Crabbe and Goyle.” Harry thoroughly enjoyed the face that Draco was making.

“Are you serious? Why?”

“We wanted to find out if you were the heir of Slytherin," Harry said. “We chatted with you for a bit, but then you said you didn’t know who the heir was, and the next thing I know you’re calling Hermione the m-word and I have to physically stop Ron from punching you into the next morning so, yeah. It didn’t go very well. Hermione turned into a cat, too. Well, her face did anyway. She spent quite a chunk of that year at the hospital wing, come to think of it.” 

Draco stared at Harry.

“You-” He started but then leaned into his fist for a second, “how…” He looked frustrated. “How the fuck were you not expelled? How were you _actually_ not expelled? You broke like, at least fifty school rules.”

“Well, we didn’t get caught is one reason," Harry said. “Besides - I got caught doing way worse things over the years. Of course I realized only a couple years ago why Dumbledore was willing to put up with all that.” 

“Yeah… Guess he kind of needed you around.” Draco let out a faint sigh. “Although, he didn’t expel me either when… when I tried to…”

“I know," Harry said. 

“Yeah. He always tried telling me I had a choice though. Only made me hate him more at the time because I knew he was right.”

Harry smiled.

“He would be proud of you I think," he said. “For what it’s worth.”

Draco glanced at Harry and smiled somehow bashfully.

“What did I say to you and Ron? When you talked to me as Crabbe and Goyle? Fuck, I was cringey back then…”

“I don’t really remember," Harry admitted. “It’s been what, nine years?” 

“If I could obliviate everyone who knew me back then…” Draco said, shaking his head.

“Oh come on, everyone was cringey back then," Harry laughed. “In case you forgot, Ron and I stole his dad’s car when we missed the train to Hogwarts.”

Draco chuckled.

“I’m pretty sure everyone remembers that Howler… All the Slytherins thought it was fucking cool though.”

“Really?” Harry said. He was leaning back in his chair, balancing on its back legs in that position where it was inevitable that he would either continue to look cool and unbothered or fall over any second now. 

“Yeah," Draco said. “I remember being so salty about it… I kept telling everyone it wasn’t true since the Weasleys probably couldn’t afford a car in the first place. You know how sometimes you just, want to have a little chat with your past self and-”

It was at that moment that Harry’s balance betrayed him. It all happened quite quickly - he suddenly realized he was ominously tilting backwards, pinched his eyes closed and heard the chair hit the floor in a loud clanger. He opened his eyes, confused as the part where he himself thumped against the floor seemed to be missing. It turned out Draco had caught him, and Harry was now looking at the Darthorn logo on his uniform vest from about two millimetres away. He recognized the scent of Draco’s clothes from when Draco had slept in his bed - what, a month or so ago? It reminded Harry of rainy days and the strange comfort they provided when all one wanted to do was lie in bed and read comic books.

“Careful, Potter," Draco laughed as he helped Harry stand up straight. “It’d be pretty lame of you to smash your head on the floor and die after surviving the killing curse twice, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah," Harry said. “Lame.” There was a wisp of hair in front of Draco's eyes, and Harry could tell from his breathing that he had managed to catch him purely because of adrenaline. Harry noticed Draco’s bottom lip was a little chapped near the corners of his mouth.

“Harry?”

Harry realized people were staring at them. He let go of Draco’s hand, unaware that he had still been holding onto it.

“Erm… Boys?” Professor Skepperus said. “Sit down, will you? Eh, so, as I was saying...” 

Harry’s heart was still racing from what had happened when he made it into the sixth floor of the dorms building. He found himself secretly hoping that he’d be the first to be back from classes so he could lock himself in his room and maybe release some pressure. 

“Harry! I was hoping I’d run into you today.”

Harry looked up and saw Larry the Giraffe in his human form staring at him from his painting.

“You were?” Harry said. He wasn’t exactly sure what the alternative would’ve been - the only way to get past the door was to talk to Larry.

“Yes," Larry said and leaned towards Harry. His voice was now a hoarse whisper. Something about the way he carried himself reminded Harry of Cedric Diggory. 

“There’s something you should know," the man said and stretched his neck as if trying to see if there was anyone else around. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah," Harry said and felt his curiosity awakening. It felt very unusual for a portrait to seem so invested in human affairs. “What is it?”

Larry’s eyes twinkled in excitement.

“Not long ago," he started, still throwing glances behind his shoulders (as if there was anyone else in the painting), “I overheard Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger talking, not far from where you’re standing now.”

“And?” Harry said. He found it difficult to imagine what could have been so interesting about Neville and Hermione’s conversation. They usually talked about the best ways to keep certain plants alive or the rights of house elves, and occasionally just gossiped about things that would’ve been a gross understatement to say Harry wasn’t interested in. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything," Larry said, “but I’ve noticed that you’ve taken a special interest in Mr. Malfoy ever since that night he stayed in your room-”

“What? How?” 

“Well don’t be silly lad," Larry laughed. “I saw you practically carry Mr. Malfoy up the stairs that night!”

“No," Harry said and lowered his voice, “I meant, how do you know I have a…”

“Special interest in him?” Larry smiled. “Well, you _have_ been walking him to his dorm every day for about, two weeks, has it been?”

“But how could you possibly know-”

Harry noticed something in the background of the portrait, so far away that had Larry tried to walk there, it would have probably taken him at least twenty minutes. A distant shadow of… a forest? 

“You guard his dorm too, don’t you?” Harry said, his eyes widening in realization. “That forest behind you - it’s the same forest as in the portrait on the seventh floor, isn’t it?”

“Why, of course it is," Larry chuckled. “So, as I was saying - I heard Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom talking about you two.”

“Draco and I?” Harry said. He felt his heart pick up some speed again. “What about us?” 

“It would seem that Mr. Longbottom received a letter from someone," Larry whispered. “The letter also contained a postcard addressed to you and Mr. Malfoy. I saw Miss Granger read it and put it in that little purse she carries everywhere with her! What do you make of that?” 

Harry frowned. 

“A postcard - for Draco and I? Are you sure?” Harry couldn’t think of anyone who would have known both Draco and him well enough to send a postcard, let alone addressed to both of them as if they were a couple or something. 

“Positively," Larry said. “Mr. Longbottom looked most distressed over the matter! I even heard him say, ‘Harry is going to kill me if he finds out’.”

“So when - how long ago was this?” Harry said. He was still struggling to understand why anyone would send a postcard to Draco and him. The only person who even knew that they were friends was Hermione.

“Must’ve been last Saturday," Larry said. “It was that day there was that awful thunderstorm! Just two days before you and Mr. Malfoy sneaked out in the middle of the night to Merlin knows where-”

“Yeah, alright," Harry said. “Let me think.” Last Saturday. The thunderstorm… That’s what must have taken Neville so long in the Owlery! He had seen the postcard and panicked because he had promised not to tell anyone about the time Malfoy had spent the night in Harry’s room. But who had he told?

“I need to talk to Hermione," Harry said. 

“She hasn’t passed through here," Larry noted. “Maybe you should check the Ladies’ dormitories?” 

“Actually, I might know where she is," Harry said and turned to leave. He then wheeled around and looked at Larry the Giraffe. “Thanks, Larry. But, could you not tell anyone about…”

“Mr. Malfoy and yourself?” Larry said. He grinned. “My lips are sealed, Mr. Potter. You can count on me.”

Something about Larry’s tone of voice made Harry a little worried, but he didn’t have time to think more on it. He needed to find Hermione and see the postcard for himself. 

Just like Harry had suspected, Hermione was doing homework in the school library on the fourth floor of the main building. Harry found her things laid out on one of the desks and could hear footsteps echoing somewhere within the aisles of books. Somehow Hermione had charmed a quill to make notes for her while she was away. Harry leaned in to look at the notebook (Hermione had exclusively started using paper notebooks after learning what parchment was made out of) and almost got hit in the head by a book that was levitating over the desk. 

“Hermione?” Harry said. “Are you here?” 

“Just a minute," Hermione’s voice said. She soon appeared from behind what Harry recalled was the history aisle, carrying a pile of books so tall her face wasn’t visible. 

“Do you need help with those?” Harry asked.

“Oh, it’s you," Hermione said, peeking from behind the books. She apparently hadn’t noticed Harry’s offer to help her, as she made her way to the desk just fine and put the books down. She then placed her hands on her hips and turned to look at Harry.

“Guess what," she said, smiling from ear to ear.

Harry was bad at guessing. 

“Uh… what?”

“The Prophet is publishing my essay!” Hermione said and looked like she was about to burst in excitement. 

“About Amortentia?” Harry said, letting out an amazed laugh. “Hermione, that’s great! When is it coming out?”

“In two days," Hermione said. “I promised to send them some known historical cases of the misuse of Amortentia, just to spice up the article a bit, you know?”

“Yeah!” Harry wasn’t sure if adding historical details would make the article more or less interesting to the public, but he was nevertheless excited for Hermione. Harry then remembered the postcard. 

“Hey, um… I don’t want to disturb you for too long, so I’m just going to ask - did Neville get a postcard last Saturday?”

Hermione’s smile faded a little, and Harry knew her well enough to know that she was considering how much information to give out.

“He did," Hermione said. “It was from Luna.” 

Harry frowned. That made what Larry had said sound even more peculiar.

“And it was… addressed to him? To Neville?” 

Hermione tilted her head.

“Who have you been talking to?”

“Larry," Harry said and as he noticed Hermione’s confused expression, continued, “the man in our dorm portrait.” 

“Oh… He must have overheard Neville and I talking about it.”

“So, it’s true then? That the card-”

“Was addressed to you and Draco Malfoy," Hermione nodded. “Neville was scared to show it to you because he didn’t want you to know that he had told Luna about Draco being in your room.”

“So he told you about that?” Harry said. He suddenly felt tense. “Did he tell you why Draco was there?” 

“No," Hermione said. “He said he couldn’t. He said you made him promise not to tell anyone.” 

Harry breathed out. Everything was okay, after all. He hadn’t betrayed Draco’s trust. 

“So, are you going to tell me why Draco was there or do you want me to guess?” Hermione said, crossing her arms. 

“I can’t," Harry said. “I promised Draco I wouldn’t.” 

Hermione squinted a little.

“Are you two dating?” 

Harry felt his heart skip a beat.

“What- no! Who told you we were-”

“No one," Hermione said calmly. “But Ron says you’ve been acting weird lately, and I’ve seen you and Draco walking together a couple times, so I thought-”

“Why would that mean we’re dating?” Harry huffed. “Besides, I’m not gay. If someone told you-”

“No one told me anything, Harry," Hermione said. “And don’t use that tone on me. If there’s something _you_ want to tell me-”

“There really isn’t," Harry said, still using _that_ tone. “Do you have that postcard?”

“Yes," Hermione said reluctantly. 

“Well, are you going to give it to me?” Harry said. He had a feeling he was being interrogated and he didn’t like it. 

“I will," Hermione said but didn’t look like she was planning to move just yet. “Harry - if you _were_ gay, or bisexual or anything-”

“Hermione," Harry let out in an anguished sigh. 

“You know that it would be okay, right?” Hermione said. “It wouldn’t change anything between you and Ron and I.” 

“You’re kidding, right?” Harry sneered. “I don’t know how well Ron hides his prejudice when he’s with you, but I was there when he found out about Dean and Seamus and let me tell you, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call ‘being okay with it’.” 

“Ron doesn’t have to hide _anything_ from me," Hermione said, her voice heavy with an icy undertone. 

“Oh yeah? So he also told you how gross he thought it was? Do you think-” Harry’s voice got caught in his throat and he suddenly felt himself tear up, “do you honestly think he would treat me the same if- if I...” 

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Harry?”

The floorboards Harry was staring at started to turn blurry. He felt fear grabbing him by the shoulders, whispering ugly truths into his ears. He _did_ want to kiss Draco. And now it was too late to pretend he didn't. Ron would never look at him the same ever again, would he? They wouldn’t laugh together or do homework or go see Quidditch games or spend weekends at the Burrow. 

“Oh, Harry," Hermione said and took a couple running steps, wrapping her arms around Harry tightly. “Harry, it’s okay.” 

“No it’s not," Harry cried, his voice muffling against Hermione’s robes. He felt like he was being torn apart. “Why did it have to be him? Why him?”

“Shh," Hermione said softly and petted Harry’s hair. “It’s going to be okay. Ron will understand.” 

“God, I’m so stupid...”

“Does Draco like you back?” Hermione asked.

“He doesn’t," Harry said, pulling back and shaking his head. “I know it.”

“Even if he doesn’t, it’s still okay that you like him.”

Harry looked at Hermione and felt the tears start rolling down his cheeks again. 

“It’s okay," Hermione said again and smiled at Harry. “I promise.”

“I should go.”

Harry was walking back to the dorms with the postcard in his pocket, keeping his head down so no one could tell that he had been - and was still - crying. Every time he thought he was about to calm down it started again, and Harry didn’t really know what to do because it wasn’t like him to cry like that. He just wanted to crawl into bed and stay there until everyone had forgotten he ever existed. 

“Hey, where are you-”

Harry ran straight into someone and found himself looking up at Draco’s gray eyes. They widened in surprise or confusion as he probably noticed how bloodshot Harry’s eyes were. 

“What happened - why are you crying?” Draco asked, leering around the hallway as if he was looking for a culprit. 

“Nothing, I’m fine," Harry said and quickly wiped his eyes. “Honestly.”

“You’re obviously not”, Draco said. “Come on. I’ll walk to you to your dorm.” 

They walked in an awkward silence. Harry didn’t know what to say - he couldn’t tell Draco why he had been crying without ruining everything and Draco would definitely see through any excuse he tried to make. 

“Did someone say something to you?” Draco asked tensely. “About St Mungo’s or…”

“No," Harry said. “Honestly, nothing like that. I’m just, kind of stressed out right now.”

“Oh right, shit. I forgot," Draco said. “You have that exam tomorrow.” 

Harry blinked and felt police sirens go off in his head. He had completely forgotten about the exam.

“Yeah," he forced out. “It’s, honestly… I don’t know if I’ll pass.” 

They stopped in front of Harry’s dorm. Harry avoided looking at Larry in the portrait.

“Do you…” Draco started and glanced at the ceiling. “Do you want me to help you study?”

Harry’s brows lifted in surprise.

“Yeah," he said and immediately regretted it. He could have just said, no thanks and gotten his shit together before spending more time with Draco instead of making him uncomfortable with his moping. “Uh, sure. Let’s go to my room?”

“Yeah," Draco said. He seemed really tense, and Harry imagined it was because of the whole speech he had held about being there for each other and shit at the coffee shop that one night. In that moment Harry wished he hadn’t said things like that. 

Draco was sitting on Harry’s bed and looking at the Quidditch posters on the walls. 

“Sorry. This place is a mess," Harry said as he picked up the pile of clothes that was covering his only chair, and threw them into the corner of the room where his trunk was.

“It was worse last time I was here," Draco said. He had changed out of his uniform after Magical Injury, and was wearing Adidas joggers and a black longsleeve that fit him just well enough that Harry couldn't look at him for a very long time without his thoughts straying. 

Harry smiled. It felt like a small forever had passed since they had been stuck in that elevator together at St.Mary’s. The memory made Harry think about what Draco had said about his leather jacket when he had been high on Amortentia. Harry pushed the thought away and started going through his bag, trying to find a book or a paper or something that had to do with the exam.

“You never told me why Pansy did it," Harry said. “I mean, you don’t have to.”

Draco let out a sigh and fell on his back on the bed. Harry looked at him, and his hands stopped fumbling inside his bag. 

“Out of spite I suppose," Draco said. “She can be a real bitch when someone hurts her feelings.”

“So it was because you didn’t like her back?”

“Kind of," Draco said. “I guess, also that I wouldn’t even be friends with her anymore. It was too weird after everything that had happened. She tried to tell me she didn’t care what I thought about Muggles, that she just didn’t want me to disappear from her life.”

Harry thought about how much he feared losing Ron, and for a moment he felt sorry for Pansy. That was, until he remembered about the Amortentia. Merlin knew how long she could have kept giving it to Draco without anyone knowing…

Draco sat back up.

“So, are we studying or does hearing about Pansy Parkinson somehow make you less stressed out?” 

“Right," Harry said and grabbed his Auror Handbook. He sat down next to Draco and handed him the book. It was heavy and full of pages where Harry had folded the corners to mark important bits - a horrible system, really, because a lot of it was important and the folded corners made the book look twice as thick as it already was. The book was full of laws on Magic and its use, and more than a third of it was just Ministry recommendations on how different situations ought to be handled. 

Draco leafed through the pages. 

“So, what part will be in the exam?”

“Could be anything," Harry said. “Apparently there’s like, sixteen different scenarios you can get.” 

Draco huffed. “How the hell are you supposed to study for something like that?”

Harry smiled. 

“Don’t know.”

Draco glanced at him.

“You look like you’re feeling better.”

“I am.”

“Good. Although, we didn’t exactly do anything yet.” 

Harry shrugged.

“Yeah.” 

He and Draco looked at each other for a moment. Something, the familiar something was spiraling and coiling in the air around them again.

“Checked on the Polyjuice Potion after class," Draco said. He looked as if he had said it just to fill the silence, with no real intention of going anywhere with the story.

“Oh?” Harry said, feeling impulse tingling under his skin. “How was it?”

“Looked okay. Like it’s supposed to, I guess.”

Harry felt his hands start to tremble ever so slightly. Was he really about to do this?

“And how is it supposed to look?” He asked and then felt unable to continue thinking any longer. He took off his glasses.

“Well you should know, you’re the one who-”

Harry quickly leaned forward and pecked Draco on the lips, pulling back as soon as their mouths had barely touched. 

Draco frowned and stared at Harry, his eyes full of questions that Harry didn’t have answers for. A second of excruciating silence went by. Harry heard the humming of his own bloodflow in his ears. Draco had frozen still, and looked like he was about to say something but decided against it at the last minute. Harry was fairly certain Malfoy was about to storm out any second now, but then Draco grabbed his face and kissed him. Harry felt his knees go weak and kissed back, and then the Auror Handbook fell on the floor with a thump. Draco pulled back and stared at Harry. Neither of them said anything, but Harry knew what Draco was thinking. Are we really doing this? 

Harry didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to talk about it, he wanted to go just far enough so it would be too late to even think of turning back or pretend nothing had happened - he leaned in and kissed Draco, and Draco kissed him back, open-mouthed, his fingers curling into Harry’s hair. Harry felt a soft moan escape him when Draco pulled him closer, and without really giving it a second thought Harry climbed on top of Draco, straddling him. Harry felt lightheaded, it was so good, too good - he felt Draco’s tongue in his mouth, and then-

Then someone opened the door and looking up, Harry saw a blurry figure with ginger hair disappear into the corridor. 


	13. Hay Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds out why he can't seem to get his Polyjuice Potion right.

Draco ran. He wasn’t sure why - he would’ve very much liked to be the kind of person who would have stayed and, been there for Harry, or something. Draco thought about what an insufferable, prudish prat he was for just leaving Harry there to deal with Weasley alone. He stopped running when he saw the oak tree in the far end of the courtyard. He walked to it, not really even comprehending that it was _him_ walking - he was still high, delirious from having kissed Harry. Something in Draco’s mind tried to convince him it hadn’t really happened. Draco ran his fingers along the rough bark of the tree and thought of Harry’s hair. He had actually touched Harry’s hair after thinking about it for all those years. He remembered thinking that getting it out of his system would probably somehow help, but now he knew better. Draco’s fingers were floating aimlessly in the air, looking. And now they had gotten a taste of what they were searching for.

Maybe it wasn’t pride after all that had forced him out of the dorm like that. Maybe the fact was that he was still just a coward, a feeble little thing like the ferret he had gotten turned into in year four. The Amazing Bouncing Ferret… Draco didn’t want to hear Harry telling him he should probably go now. He didn’t want to hear him explain to Ron how ‘this isn’t what it looks like’, and how he had just kissed Draco on a whim, a stupid impulse, just another thing he should have gotten expelled for but wouldn’t because he was Harry Potter. Harry must have realized the reality of it, the reality of getting himself involved with a Malfoy. Draco knew it, he could tell from the way Harry’s expression had changed when Weasley had come barging in all of a sudden. 

Draco leaned his back against the tree and looked up at it, up at the thick branches that fanned out above him, leafless and bare against the white sky. It was cold. He remembered how he had loved climbing trees as a child and how his father had laughed and told him to get down, to stop making such a fool of himself. Everyone is staring, he had said. Draco had wondered who everyone was, and why they mattered more than the swans that he had seen from the tree and tried to point out. But he hadn’t asked. He had learned early on not to ask stupid questions. And not to do ridiculous things that didn’t benefit anyone like climbing trees or running or staring at ponds, hoping to catch a glimpse of a swimming frog or a fish. Or even a leech. And he certainly should’ve known better than to kiss Harry Potter.

“Draco?” 

Draco flinched and turned around. He hadn’t expected to see Granger standing there, just a few feet away from the tree. How the hell had she gotten so close without making any noise? 

“Hi," Granger said and, though Draco couldn’t even begin to understand why she bothered, forced a little smile. She was holding a stack of folders and notebooks and looked like she was on her way to do homework.

“Hi," Draco said in a tone that made the word more like a question than a greeting. Then he suddenly realized - Granger must have somehow found out what happened. Had she come to the dorm along with Weasley? Draco didn’t remember seeing anyone, but then again he also hadn’t exactly stopped to admire the view on his way out. 

“How - how are you?” Granger asked in an unnatural tone that revealed she was aware of how ridiculous the circumstances were. Draco didn’t even have time to come up with an answer before Granger spoke again. “I’m sorry, I know this is kind of strange but - I wanted to talk to you about Harry.” 

What was it with these Gryffindors and their constant need to apologize when there was obviously no reason to? Draco knew exactly why she wanted to talk about Harry, and that wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to. 

“What’s there to talk about? He kissed me first, Granger - I didn’t give him force him to do it or give him a love potion or blackmail him into it - he kissed _me_ , okay?”

Granger looked genuinely surprised.

“Harry kissed you? When?” 

Draco felt his gut twist. So Granger hadn’t - and now he had practically outed Harry to her-

“Fuck," Draco groaned. He then threw his hands up. “Okay, scratch that - I lied. It was me. I kissed him, he’s probably up in the dorm right now telling Weasley all about it. You should go and ask him yourself.”

“But I just saw Harry in the library half an hour ago - he was really upset when he left-”

“I ran into him," Draco said. “He was crying and I just-” Draco stopped talking. So Harry had been on his way back from the library? 

"Why was he crying?” Draco asked.

“I’m not sure if I should tell you," Granger said, her shoulders dropping. “But I haven’t seen Harry like this in a long time, so I-”

“You assumed I must’ve done something to him," Draco said. 

“No," Granger said, “I-”

“Figures," Draco huffed. “Listen, I’m as perplexed as you are as to why Harry would want to have anything to do with me, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Would you just shut up for two seconds and listen?” Granger exclaimed. Draco suddenly remembered a certain slap in the face he had received a few years ago. He shut up.

“Harry likes you," Granger said. “He told me - or, it became pretty obvious, when he started to...”

“Harry was crying because he likes me?” Draco said. Not that he didn’t understand. Draco would have cried too, had he been in Harry’s position.

“He was crying because he was afraid of how Ron would react if he found out.” 

“Nothing much there to be afraid of if you ask me. He just stood there and gawked for a second looking like a proper git and then left.”

Granger slapped a hand to her mouth.

“Ron saw when you - but why would you do it in front of him? Didn’t it occur to you that it would put Harry in a really nasty position-”

“Hey, I’m not that thick, okay? Here’s the facts: Harry and I were in his room, on his bed, Harry on top of me, we’re making out, door closed, right?” 

Granger raised her brows as if urging Draco to continue, but it wasn’t enough to hide the fact that she was blushing.

“Then Weasley just - barges in, just like that, without knocking or anything. So I panic and pretty much throw Harry on the bed, he starts fumbling for his glasses and I get the fuck out of there. I came here, Harry and Weasley are still up there - that’s what happened.” 

Granger let out a sigh. “They’re probably fighting.”

“You better go and break it up then," Draco said. “Harry’s got that test tomorrow and everything."

“Oh no," Granger laughed, “they can yell at each other all night long if they want. I have better things to do right now than play family therapist for them.”

Draco frowned.

“Like what?”

“Like studying. Or like, when Harry came looking for me in the library, I was writing my article on Amortentia for the Daily Prophet”, Granger said. “Listen, I’ve known Harry and Ron for ten years now and it’s pretty much established at this point that they fight no matter what I do.”

“Amortentia? And who… what gave you that idea?” Draco couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed that Harry had told her.

Granger shrugged.

“I just always thought it was appalling that it hasn’t been illegalized yet, so I thought I’d try and do something about it. Although, as an Alchemy major I don’t expect you to agree with me. From a purely magiological point of view it has some fascinating properties.” 

Draco started to get a little confused. Did Granger know or not?

“So does _crucio_ and yet they never taught us that one at Hogwarts. Or, they weren't supposed to, at least.” 

“So you do agree?” Granger said, her eyes lighting up a little. She started looking through her folders and handed Draco a slip of paper. “Then tell me, what do you think?”

Draco stared at the neat handwriting. He looked up at Granger.

“Why are you being nice to me?” 

Granger tilted her head.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean-” Draco huffed, “I get it that you’re trying for Harry’s sake but he’s not even here right now.”

“Don’t be so dramatic," Granger laughed. “We’re not kids anymore. Besides - Harry talks about you a lot. About how you’ve changed, and I don't think the way we were as teenagers should determine the rest of our lives, do you?"

“He talks about me?”

“Yes," Granger said. “He said you wouldn’t call me a mudblood anymore, and I want to believe him. Some people may think everything is black and white, that there are good people and bad people and that’s it, but I’m not one of those people.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. He stared at his shoes. 

“So, will you read the article?” Granger said. "You know a lot about potions, so I would appreciate a second opinion."

“No, I- I will, but just…” Draco stuttered and looked away. “I’m sorry I called you that. I was a - Harry’s right, I wouldn’t - I’m sorry.” 

"Apology accepted," Granger said. She turned to look at the main building, and looked as if in her mind she was looking at another place entirely. “You know, I remember the way you’d look at Harry in class."

She chuckled. “You always made sure he was looking at you before you said something idiotic. You never made trouble unless he was there to see it, and I always thought… I saw how Crabbe and Goyle followed you everywhere and I couldn’t help but think how much you three were just an extension of your families. How it seemed like you had no choice.”

Granger looked up at Draco.

“It must’ve been awful. To do what you did, to walk out on your family after everything… I hope they don’t-”

“Act like I don’t exist," Draco said. “They do.” 

Granger looked down.

“I’m sorry.”

Draco didn’t answer. Granger kept talking.

“And I’m - I’m proud of you. It’s one thing to be brave and stupid like those boys upstairs, but admitting you were wrong, that’s… That’s something I want to get better at. In case I’m ever wrong.” Granger smiled.

Draco gave a vague smile that quickly faded. No one had ever told him they were proud of him before, and he wasn't quite sure what the appropriate reaction was. He decided to look at the article instead. He didn’t really have the ability at that moment to concentrate on it. Words were running around on the page, twitching and swirling into directions that weren’t supposed to be there.

"I don't… I don't know _that_ much about potions," he muttered. “Can't even make Polyjuice Potion.”

“Oh?” Hermione said. “Did you crush the bicorn properly?” 

“Down to atoms," Draco said. 

“You know about atoms?” 

“Well, I - I used to read about Muggles sometimes in the library at Hogwarts. Never told anyone about that, actually.”

Hermione smiled.

“What about the leeches, were they alive when you added them?”

“Very much so.”

Hermione frowned. “Hmm… So what happened when you drank it?”

“Nothing," Draco said. “I was supposed to turn into my lab partner but I just, itched everywhere for a few hours and got an awful rash on my arms.”

Granger looked like she was thinking. It didn’t look the same as when Harry was thinking - he looked like he was leafing through folders in his memory, one page at a time, squinting as he got closer to the right one. But Granger, she looked like she had a few libraries in there instead of a single file cabinet. 

“And professor Abboud couldn’t point out what you did wrong?”

“No.”

“Do you get hay fever?” 

Draco tugged on his earlobe. 

“Uh, sometimes?”

“What time of year?”

“Summer? Late summer, maybe July or August. Why?”

“That’s it!” Granger said, snapping her fingers. 

Draco stared at her. He wasn’t at all used to being so unable to follow a conversation.

“What - so I can’t make Polyjuice Potion because I get hay fever?”

“You can _brew_ it," Granger said, “but not drink it. Don’t you see? You’re allergic to knotgrass! The itching and the rash, it was obviously an allergic reaction. That's why the potion doesn't work - your body rejects it instead of reacting with the magical properties."

"And how exactly did you figure that out after asking me - what, two questions?"

"You’re good at potions, so it wouldn’t have made sense for you to repeatedly get something wrong, especially if even professor Abboud couldn’t figure out what it was. And the other ingredients, well, they’re just not as likely allergenes.” 

Draco tilted his head. Brightest witch of her age, huh? More like brightest witch, period.

“So I’ll just, have someone else try it then?”

“That should do the trick," Hermione said. She held out her hand and Draco gave the paper back to her.

“I’ll read the article when they publish it," Draco said. “Really, I don’t think I could’ve come up with anything to make it better.” 

“Alright," Granger said and turned to leave.

“Actually," Draco said, and Granger wheeled around to look at him. “Could you… Could you use coffee as an example in the article? For the Amortentia.”

“As a way to conceal it?”

“Yeah. Write something like, ‘someone might even put it in an unsuspecting ex-boyfriend’s coffee in an effort to win them back’.” 

Something about the way Granger looked at him made Draco feel like she now knew exactly what had happened. 

“I’ll see what I can do," she said with a quizzical smile.


	14. Draco's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Draco makes a run for it, Ron and Harry are left behind to deal with the aftermath of the situation.

They were standing in the kitchen, both avoiding eye contact. 

“Did you," Ron started, his ears and cheeks scarlet, “lose a bet or something?”

“No," Harry said. 

Ron turned to look at him. 

“Well what - why were you…” 

Harry gathered every ounce of courage he could, but the words 'because I like him' just wouldn't leave his mouth.

“I think you know why," he said instead.

“Um, I hope the fuck I don’t," Ron laughed. “That was _Draco Malfoy_ in there, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, and?” Harry said, his temper riling up, challenging Ron to say what he was thinking.

“And? _And_? Am I the only sane person in this room? Besides - since when are you gay, anyway?” 

“I’m not," Harry said. He tried to, but he just couldn't look Ron in the eyes. He was still trying to process the fact that he had kissed Draco and Draco had kissed him back instead of jinxing him.

“Oh, so that was just, a very friendly snogging I just walked in on? Or did he give you a love potion or something?” 

“He didn't," Harry said, his heart racing. He was starting to feel the high die down, and it was rapidly being replaced by frustration towards Ron. 

“Then what the bloody hell did you kiss him for?” Ron exclaimed. 

Harry’s lips parted, but only a tense exhale came out at first. “Because I wanted to?”

“Care to tell me why? Because in case you forgot, he’s a massive dirtbag and also, um what was that thing again where they all hunt you for sport, with the masks and matching tattoos and everything - oh, a _Death Eater_!”

“He's not a- he never wanted to be part of that! Besides, people change. He's different now, he's-”

“Not that much they don’t," Ron huffed. “He called Hermione a mudblood, Harry, he - he broke your nose, he tried to kill Dumbledore! He almost killed me with that poisoned mead! I can’t believe I have to explain this to you - you can’t just pretend that never happened. He’s vicious!”

Harry sighed.

“I know. I know that’s how you see it, but you don’t know the whole story. You don’t know what he went through.”

“And since when do you know so much about him? Larry says you’ve been sneaking out with Malfoy for weeks.” 

“And what if I have? What are you going to do, ground me?"

Ron shook his head.

“Listen mate, you can do whatever you want but if you ask me, kissing that nut job is a thought you maybe would’ve been better off keeping to yourself.”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion. And I don’t remember asking you to show up out of nowhere in my room, either," Harry snarled.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, yeah I should have totally seen that coming! I should’ve thought, ‘you know what, Harry might just be fucking Draco Malfoy in there so I better knock’.”

“I wasn’t fucking him.”

“Well it certainly looked like you would have if I hadn’t showed up," Ron huffed. 

“I don’t think that’s really any of your business.” 

“So is that why Ginny broke up with you? Because you’re gay?” 

“I’m not gay," Harry said, frustration building up inside him. “And don’t you bring Ginny into this. What happened between us is none of your-”

“Except it is, Harry, because she’s my sister and you’re supposed to be my best friend! I’m the one person who’s supposed to know if you’re gay.”

“I’m not gay, Ron, how many times do I have to tell you? I, I like both. Men and women, okay?” 

“Well why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, I don’t know - maybe because I’ve known Draco likes me back for a grand total of twelve minutes!” Harry shouted.

“Oh so he's _Draco_ now? So you actually fancy him? And, and you’re expecting me to just say, ‘oh okay Harry, you know what, love who you love’?”

“That’s what a _friend_ would do," Harry said. “You’re being a proper dick right now, you know that, right?”

“Well what’s the matter, I thought you like dick now," Ron sneered. 

“Oh fuck off," Harry said, letting out a joyless laughter. “You know what, at least I’m not in denial. Unlike you, I don't need everyone to like me so fucking much all of the fucking time.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean. You don’t really want to be an Auror, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Ron’s hands balled up into fists.

“Take that back.” 

“No," Harry said. “No, I don’t think I will. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just go and be gay somewhere else.” 

“You’ve changed, Harry!” Harry heard Ron sneer after him as he walked out of the dorm.

“You haven’t," Harry said as he slammed the door closed behind him.

A giraffe was staring judgementally at him from the portrait. 

“And you," Harry said, raising his wand at the animagus, “if you ever blabber about my business to him again-”

“I’ve already threatened to graffiti over every single one of his portraits," a voice said behind Harry. Harry turned around and saw Draco sitting on the stairs leading up to the next floor. They looked at each other in silence as Theodore Nott from Draco’s dorm skipped down the stairs past them. 

“Is that the face of regret I’m looking at?” Draco said when they heard the front door close in the first floor.

“More like the face of I just told my best friend he’s a dick who won’t graduate," Harry said.

Draco tilted his head. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry glanced behind his shoulder at the giraffe in the portrait.

“Not here.”

“Then let’s go to my room.”

The password to Draco’s dorm was “ _Graveyard Dates_ ”. Harry tried not to make much of a mental note of it but couldn’t really help himself. By the time they got to Draco’s room he had already repeated it in his thoughts so many times he knew he was never going to forget it. 

Despite all the leftover adrenaline from the arguing, Harry felt a fluttering in his chest when he saw Draco’s room for the first time. It felt strangely intimate to actually see where he spent most of his time, and to Harry’s surprise the place didn’t look as minimalist and monochrome as what he had expected based on the way Draco dressed. The walls wore a dark paneling, and what was left bare above them was covered in pencil sketches of people, birds and other animals, and pages ripped out from books, with sentences underlined in black ink. Books were piled up under the window in what looked like a makeshift window sill, and on top of them lay a pile of papers and - Harry couldn’t help but notice - a couple crumpled up paper cranes. 

Draco closed the door as Harry looked up at the pictures on the walls. There was an old man drinking coffee, a dead pigeon, some swans…

“I didn’t know you draw so well," Harry said as Draco sat down on the bed. 

“I got better after the war.” 

Hands in his pockets, Harry stepped a little closer to the wall to read what sentence was underlined on one of the book pages. 

Harry smiled.

“What’s this from?”

“Which one?” 

“ _When you look into the abyss, it’s not supposed to wave back_.”

“Oh, that one - it’s from a new Terry Pratchett book. He’s a Muggle author who writes about magic. Well, not real magic but, you know. The way he imagines it.” Draco got up to point at another page. “That one’s his too.” 

Draco then read the quote to Harry, who at this point was staring at the young man, experiencing waves of euphoria that he suspected were side effects of utterly, irreversibly, _falling_. What on Earth?

“ _Most witches don’t believe in gods_ ”, Draco read. “ _They know that the gods exist, of course. They even deal with them occasionally. But they don’t believe in them. They know them too well. It would be like believing in the postman_.”

“He’s good," Harry admitted. 

“Yeah," Draco said. “Although, you don’t read much, do you? I only saw comic books in your room.”

“Hey, Spider-Man counts as reading too," Harry noted. 

“Spider-Man? Is he like, an animagus or something?” 

“It’s kind of a long story… I’ll borrow you some comics," Harry said and turned to look at the wall again.

“Why do you rip them out?” He asked. “The pages. Aren’t you worried that you’ll want to read the book again at some point?”

“No," Draco said, giving a little chuckle and turning to look at Harry. “There’s usually much more pressing things to worry about.” 

Harry looked up into Draco’s eyes - they were about at the level of where his scar began on his forehead - and saw waves and patterns in his irises he hadn’t noticed before. He noticed Draco glancing at his lips and swallowing. Harry’s lips parted instinctively and he was already expecting to be kissed again when Draco said:

“So, uh - what did Weasley say?”

Harry hadn’t heard Draco say “um” before, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Something along the lines of ‘you shouldn’t be gay and especially not for him’.” 

Draco gave a small huff and looked at the wall. It wasn’t difficult to tell that he was holding back from saying something mean.

“Weasley's not wrong, you know.”

Harry raised a brow.

“So you agree with him? You’d rather I hadn’t kissed you?” 

Draco turned his gaze back to Harry.

"Yes. And no."

“What’s with the face," Harry said. “Ron and I will be fine. You look like you’re going to bite me again like, at any minute.”

“Why, do you want me to?” Draco said, raising his brows and giving a smirk that caught Harry off-guard, causing a jerk in his gut and a burning on his cheeks.

“And what if I do?” Harry said, giving Draco’s teasing his best challenge. That was clearly enough to drive Draco over an edge. Something in his eyes turned hazy, too far in to focus anymore, and he pushed Harry back against the wall. He was so close Harry could feel his hot breathing on his lips.

“Take off your glasses," Draco said. Harry did and placed them in Draco’s hand that was already held out, waiting. Draco placed the glasses on the writing desk and then turned his attention back to Harry. His gaze brushed past Harry’s mouth again, and only that was enough to create an anticipating shudder in him. What was taking him so long?

“Scared, Malfoy?” Harry said with a mischievous smirk.

“Shut up," Draco said and kissed him in a way that could only be described as _barely restrained_. The room fell away, Harry felt his hands desperately grab onto whatever piece of clothing, skin, Draco he could find, he let his tongue brush past Draco’s like an invitation. Draco then gently bit Harry’s lower lip, and Harry opened his eyes. Neither of them pulled back, and Draco murmured against his mouth:

“Enough?”

Breathless, Harry shook his head in the tiniest gesture. There was little gentle left with the way Draco kissed him now, his tongue rolling over Harry’s, his hands frantically exploring Harry’s neck and the arch in his back that had come to be just from the way Harry was leaning into him. Harry felt his limbs go weak from the almost animalistic way he began to lose himself in it. He made Draco take a few steps back, guiding him to sit on the bed and climbed on top of him just like before, except this time no one interrupted them. 


	15. The Other Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Harry make up just in time for their Practical Evaluation. However, the exam proves to be particularly challenging for one of them...

It would have been a gross understatement to simply say there was tension at the breakfast table the next morning. Not only were Ron and Harry the only ones who had to get up so early, but it also seemed like neither of them had really slept. Harry had come back from Draco’s dorm quite late, and judging by the redness in Ron’s eyes he had spent the night studying. Or at least trying to. It was the first time they were about to take an exam they hadn’t studied together for, and despite the recent events, Harry wasn’t happy about it. He also felt immensely guilty for what he had said to Ron the previous day - that he should just admit he didn’t really want to be an Auror. Hadn’t it been Harry himself who had said to Hermione, that they should let Ron figure it out on his own? 

Ron’s spoon clanged against the side of his cereal bowl. Harry swallowed down a particularly dry piece of bread and glanced at him. Ron had been staring at the hickey on Harry’s neck all morning, and Harry didn’t really blame him for it. He had hoped the uniform jacket’s collar would be high enough to cover it, but he hadn’t been so lucky. 

Harry cleared his throat a little. Ron shifted on his chair restlessly.

“I didn’t mean what I said yesterday," Harry forced out. “About you becoming an Auror. I’m sorry.” 

Ron stared into his cereal and didn’t say anything for a long time. 

“Did you know ‘Mione and Draco talked yesterday in the courtyard?” He finally said, his voice still raspy from the sleep (or lack thereof).

“No," Harry said. Despite the hours and hours he had talked (and snogged, to be fair) with Draco the previous night, Draco hadn’t mentioned anything about Hermione. “When?” 

“Probably while you and I were…” Ron fell silent, clenching his jaw like he often did when he was nervous. “I haven’t seen Hermione since then but, Dean told me. He said he saw them talking when he was on his way back from Visual Charms.”

“I don’t suppose he overheard what they were talking about.”

“If he did, he didn’t tell me," Ron said. “I reckon they were talking about us.” Ron gave a quick, lopsided smile. 

Harry smiled too. 

“What’s there to talk about? We’re the same as always… Fighting, alright for six months or so, fighting... But we always make up in the end, don't we?” 

“I wish my brothers fought like you," Ron said, clearly relaxing a little bit. “Instead of just, jinxing all my socks into spiders. I prefer the talking even though I’m not that good at it.” 

“I really wasn’t my place to say you don’t want to be an Auror," Harry sighed. 

“I’m sorry too," Ron said, his shoulders dropping. “I- I can’t promise I’ll get along with Malfoy, but it won’t change things between you and I. I'm just - I'm not really used to the idea yet, but I will be. At some point.”

“The only person I need you to be friends with is me," Harry said. 

Ron smiled and felt the top of his head. He had recently gotten a buzz cut (mainly because most of his hair had burned off when he had been helping Seamus, Fred and George with testing out the new fireworks), and still wasn’t quite used to it.

“Thing is, you’re right," he said. “I’ve known for a while this really isn’t what I want to do, but... I also don’t want to drop out. At least, not before I figure out what I’m going to do next. I don’t want to tell people, ‘I dropped out, I couldn’t do it’. I want to tell them, ‘look, I started this great new thing’.”

“Sounds like the smart thing to do," Harry said. He then snorted.

“What?” Ron said, already laughing a little bit just to Harry’s sudden outburst.

“I just realized," Harry said, barely containing his smile, “that when you go, Neville will be the only straight guy left in the dorm.” 

“Bloody hell," Ron said and laughed into his sleeve, trying not to wake up the others. 

Harry’s smile eventually faded, and he looked at his best friend across the table.

“I don’t want you to go," he said. They had been in the same school for ten years and despite the odd disagreement here and there, Harry wasn’t anywhere near ready to let go of that. 

“I don’t want to go," Ron sighed. “Believe me, if it wasn’t for you and Hermione, I’d have dropped out the first week.” He sipped from his coffee and while doing that, glanced at his watch. His eyes widened and he quickly downed the rest of it in a painful-looking gulp.

“Oh shit - we’re late, aren’t we?” 

“If only McGonagall had really turned one of us into a pocket watch…”

A witch called Juno Toadsworth was head instructor for the Auror Training programme. She was a retired Auror who spoke with a strange, vaguely Nordic accent and was about as tall as Harry had been at twelve years old. She was a brilliant teacher and a particularly good storyteller, but much to Harry’s disappointment, he wouldn’t have many of her classes before third year. Toadsworth was, however, always present during exams, and this morning was no exception. 

Ron, Harry and the two other AT students in their year (the fifth had dropped out a month into the first year) were standing in line in the middle of Darthorn’s quidditch field that somehow managed to exist both inside one of the school’s broom closets but also very noticeably outdoors. It was dark outside, and so cold that Harry wouldn’t have been surprised to see snowflakes floating down from the sky. Although, Harry still wasn’t quite sure whether the sky was real or just charmed into place like the ceiling in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Either way, right now the sky felt painfully real as it hung above them as a formless, black void that made the already freezing students look even more miserable. 

Professor Toadsworth, however, didn’t seem to mind the cold. No wonder, really, as she was dressed in heavy wool and furs from head to toe.

“Right then," she said, adopting a wide stance. “The time has come again to test our limits. We have done this before, so I will be brief in my instructions. All spells cast at you during the exam are real and will inflict very real damage upon you. With that being said, the three unforgivable curses are out of limits, as always. You may face a Boggart, a cursed object, a duel with one of my assistants - whatever it is, you have to deal with it and once you have, you send green sparks and I will come evaluate the situation. If not… Well, you send red sparks or alternatively we scrape what’s left of you into a nice urn after the exam.”

The students, being used to Toadsworth’s grim jokes, shared smug looks. 

“Lastly, as you’ve without a doubt been told before, these challenges have been chosen for each of you based on your weakest points in last year’s final exams. You’ve had the summer to improve on these areas, and I trust you will all prove to me that you have done so. Now," she said, clapping her hands together, “any questions?”

Ron raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Weasley?”

“I was just wondering - what if we, uh… Haven’t improved?” 

Professor Toadsworth gave a grin. 

“Then, my lad, I suppose you will just have to come up with a large enough amount of pumpkin tarts to bribe me with. The same works for surprisingly many Dark Arts practitioners, I’ve noticed… If you ask me, the only reason we have all these goons lurking about these days is that there is that people have started to worry about eating too much sugar. What a ghastly existence…” One of professor Toadsworth’s assistants coughed politely and interrupted the professor’s trail of thought. “Oh, yes. Of course - let’s begin, shall we?”

Harry was up first that day. He was guided into a tent that had been set up on the quidditch field and left there.

“You are permitted to cast _lumos_ now," Toadsworth's voice said from outside the tent after everyone had left. “Good luck, Potter!”

Harry cast _lumos_ , ready to stupefy anyone else in the tent. He lowered his wand a little when he realized he was alone. He wasn’t really surprised he hadn't been chosen for duelling as it always been one of his strong suits, but as someone had once - or actually, plenty of times - told him, there was rarely any harm in constant vigilance. Harry looked around the tent, expecting to find a cursed object waiting for him on a table somewhere, but the whole space was stripped of furniture. The only thing _in_ the tent besides Harry himself - and Harry’s heart dropped when he saw it - was a large mirror in ornate frames. Upon closer inspection it was easily distinguishable from the Mirror of Erised that Harry had first mistaken it for; this mirror had the word “Tnemrot” engraved into the top of the frame, each letter decorated with horrified faces and foul creatures. 

Harry carefully inspected the mirror, looking behind it and at all possible parts before finally moving on to the reflection. He was to see that no one was standing behind him in the reflection. It was just him, standing in the cold light of his _lumos,_ looking tired and lucky. The latter was mostly due to the hickey.

Harry stared at the image for a while, expecting something to happen. He then, very quickly, touched the surface. He flinched as he realized his fingers were sinking into the reflection - he was expected to walk into it. Harry glanced at the thin strip of pink light coming in from the tent’s flap. The sun must have been rising outside. Draco was probably still in bed…

Harry found himself surprisingly reluctant to walk into the mirror. Something, something he couldn’t really point out, was very eerie about the whole thing. But he had beaten Voldemort. And at least a hundred dementors, and several Death Eaters, he reminded himself. Walking into danger simply was what he _did,_ wasn’t it? Harry took a deep breath and stepped into the reflection.

For a moment it was dark, and Harry had to cast _lumos_ again to figure out where he was. He found himself crouching inside a very familiar - and very unpleasant - cupboard under a staircase. The place was so frequently featured in his nightmares that Harry had to stop and think on whether he had actually woken up that morning. He then remembered his foolproof method for checking if he was dreaming and looked at his watch twice - it showed 8.30 in the morning both times. Not a dream. Harry wondered if the mirror could have sent him into the past, but quickly decided against it. There was something surreal and claustrophobia-inducing about the space, something subtly but obviously different from the actual memories Harry had of the place. 

Harry tried the door, and as he had already guessed, it was locked. He realized that if the events would follow the patterns of his nightmares, the eyes would come next. Voldemort’s eyes would appear in the vent. Harry decided to get out instead of waiting, and he cast _bombardo_ on the door. _Alohomora_ probably would have worked too, he thought, but there was something undeniably cathartic about using _bombardo_. 

Harry stepped into the hallway that was now covered in dust and bits of drywall and wood from the small explosion that had just taken place. He was expecting to see Voldemort appear from around the corner, but no one seemed to be there, not even the Dursleys. Harry wandered into the kitchen, flinching at every sound the floor made under his feet. The room was decorated with furniture he didn’t recognize. He walked over to the table and looked at the newspaper that was spread out on top of it. It was a Daily Prophet with the headline “Head Auror Potter, 42, Killed on Duty” printed in massive letters on the front page. 

Harry grabbed the newspaper and read the full article on his own death. It listed many of his achievements, including defeating the Dark Lord in 1998 and becoming the youngest to be promoted to be Head of the Auror Department in 2007, a year that hadn’t even taken place yet. The article also featured a short interview by one of Harry’s colleagues - no one the real Harry recognized - who described Harry as a tense but determined man to whom fighting Dark wizards had been more than just a career choice; it had been his sole purpose in life. The colleague then went on to say that dying on duty while tracking down a group of illegal magical object traders was probably the way he would have wanted to go. Harry frowned as he read that he hadn’t even been killed by one of the traders, but in a car accident on his way back from work. While it may have technically counted as still being “on duty”, Harry still felt that calling it that just made the already underwhelming story seem even worse. However, there was nothing strikingly unrealistic about it, and Harry started to wonder if, instead of the past or a nightmare, the mirror had sent him into the future. 

He started to feel uneasy. He wanted to go back to the tent on the quidditch field but didn't know how. Clearly there was something in this vision he had to fight or figure out, but what was it? He had already died in the most unsatisfying way he could have possibly came up with.

Harry heard the front door open and quickly crouched behind the kitchen island, wand at the ready. He heard two voices he didn't recognize, talking to each other.

"So, this is where he grew up, eh? Not the prettiest place..."

"We could do a 'rags to riches' sort of thing for the special," the other voice answered.

"Good point. There's a good shot." A camera clicked.

"Poor old bugger... Last time I interviewed him must've been three years ago. Other foot in the grave already back then if you ask me."

"Yeah... I guess he never really moved on."

"Moved on? Bha! No family, no kids... And according to the St Mungo source he had been on Calming Droughts for at least two years straight before he died."

"Really? So that's why the car-"

"Yep. Proper addict. I won't lie, I was relieved to hear it was him that died and not the Muggle." 

"For sure..." Another camera click.

"Did you hear about the Malfoy case already?"

"The younger Malfoy, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"No, what happened?"

"Rumour has it he was taken into St Mungo's late last night after the accident. He was apparently telling people it was you-know-who who'd done it."

"What, killed Potter?"

"Yeah. That it wasn't a car accident after all. Obviously the nutter's finally gone off the deep end. No wonder really when you think of his background. Used to be a Death Eater, did you know that?"

"Yeah, I heard... They should keep his kind locked up if you ask me." 


	16. Where are we?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry needs Draco's help, but Draco doubts himself. Has he got what it takes?

The Muggle houses started to blow up, one by one. Draco watched, horrified, as fire and smoke devoured the city. It was his fault, it must've been his fault, he was always thinking about how awful Muggle architecture was - and then he jolted awake and realized someone was banging on the door. 

Draco rolled over, a jaded frown shadowing his face, and reached for his watch. He stared at it, trying to get his eyes to focus on the symbols. Almost noon? He blinked and looked again. Half past eleven... So he had slept through his morning lectures? A very strange occurrence considering how long he had been suffering from insomnia - he didn't even remember the last time he had slept through a full night.

And since it _was_ almost noon, then who was at the door? Everyone had lectures, and even if they had decided to skip, it still wasn't as if they'd be interested in what Draco was up to. Or whether he was up in the first place.

Draco sat up, feeling light-headed. He was still trying to process he had _actually_ slept for so long in one go. The door shook in its hinges as someone pounded on it again. 

"Alright, wait a damn minute, will you?"

Draco put on the joggers and hoodie he had left folded on his chair the previous night. 

He opened the door just as Ron Weasley, who was standing on the other side of it, was about to slam his fist onto it again. 

The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Weasley, as usual, looked reluctant to exist on the same plane as Draco, and Draco had a feeling he hadn't come to see him voluntarily.

“So you _do_ know how to knock," Draco said. He wasn't hiding very well the fact that he was still, despite getting closer to Harry, not terribly fond of Ron.

“Do you have Calming Droughts?” 

“You don’t seem particularly in need of that sort of thing," Draco said. “Well, if we ignore the condition you’ve left my door in. How did you get in here, anyway?”

“It’s Harry," Weasley said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking deeply uneasy. “He… It’s kind of a long story, but he’s not doing very well, and I-”

Draco tensed up. 

“What happened?”

“He’s locked himself in his room - professor Toadsworth tried to get him to go to the school healer but he wouldn’t, and I don’t really know what happened to him - Toadsworth had only just gotten him out of that mirror when I saw him -”

Draco's heart jumped. Surely it couldn't be...

“What mirror? What did it look like?” 

Weasley just stared at Draco blankly, as if he had been speaking in a foreign language. 

“I-”

“How do you expect me to help him if you don’t tell me what happened?” Draco growled, and the Weasley took a step back. 

“Merlin - okay, calm down! I didn’t see the mirror that well, alright? Harry was in the examination tent for a couple hours, right, and then we saw red sparks coming out. We all ran to see what was going on, but there was no one in the tent except a mirror, and the next thing I know is professor Toadsworth walks _into_ the mirror, like into the reflection, and returns not longer than a minute later, dragging Harry with her. Harry was shaking - he threw up the second his feet touched the ground and he sort of collapsed, but wouldn't let anyone touch him. I tried to help him up but he raised his wand at me-” 

“Alright, enough," Draco said. While Weasley had been talking he had gathered a few vials and pocketed his wand. “Make sure Harry stays in his room for as long as it takes me to return. I know the password to your dorm.”

“But, I’m supposed to be back at the quidditch field-”

“Do I look like I care, Weasley?” Draco squinted at him as he pushed past him and walked out of the flat. 

“Where the hell are you going then?” Weasley yelled after him. 

“To have a little chat with your professor," Draco said. And murder her if she did what I think she did, Draco thought to himself.

Draco found professor Toads-whatever-her-name-was sitting on a chair in front of the broom cupboard that led to the quidditch field. Draco recognized her from the ridiculous amount of layers of robes and furs. She was reading a magazine, cross-legged, looking more like a homeless person than a professor.

“Professor?” 

“Yes?” 

“What happened to Potter?” 

"His friend, are you? I am under the impression that Mr. Potter returned to his dormitories."

"The mirror," Draco said, feeling his patience starting to run on mere steam, "is the mirror from Knockturn Alley?"

The professor turned to look at Draco, not visibly impressed but obviously more intrigued by the conversation than she had been a few seconds ago.

“Who are you?” 

“I’m two seconds away from losing my temper," Draco said and walked up to the professor, “so tell me - did you or did you not send Potter into the Mirror of Nemrot?”

The professor tilted her head.

“You must be quite familiar with dark magic to be aware of this mirror," she said and stood up, her r’s rolling as she spoke. She gave Draco a once-over. “Blonde hair, dressed in black and all this, _feral_ energy… You must be Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco didn’t answer, and the woman continued talking in her strange accent Draco couldn't quite put his finger on. 

“You are correct in your assumption, however your pronounciation of the name of the object in question deviates from the highest level of accuracy. It is called the Mirror of _Tnemrot_ , not Nemrot. Now, whatever you have heard about it, I can assure you-”

“People have gone insane from what they saw in that mirror," Draco snarled, holding himself back from raising his wand at the professor. “Why would you make Potter go in there?” 

“Because, Mr. Malfoy, it is Mr. Potter’s job as an Auror to not go insane when he is subjected to such horrors.” 

“But he’s not an Auror yet, is he? Besides, it’s not fair - you have no idea how the mirror affects someone like him. It’s _worse_ for him, it’s-”

“I am aware of this, Mr. Malfoy," the professor said. She put emphasis on all the incorrect parts of words when she talked, which made it difficult for Draco to read her tone of voice. “Has it not occurred to you that it is in my interest not only to guide future Aurors, but also to steer the fragile ones away from this path?”

“He's not fragile.”

“It is not a word I use to belittle someone, Mr. Malfoy. In fact, the opposite is true - I feel Mr. Potter has done more for our cause than perhaps any other wizard of the past, present or future can ever hope to achieve. I would see him live a peaceful life somewhere, planting potatoes, were it up to me.”

“So you just, decided to scare him out of his mind so he couldn’t become an Auror?”

“You are wrong," the professor said, her voice calm. She started pacing around in front of Draco in an annoying way that made it look like she was walking in a garden on a Sunday evening. “To be frank with you, Mr. Potter has had trouble in the past telling apart his memories, his fears and his paranoia, from the moment at hand. This is not a quality one wishes to see in an Auror. I had hoped time would have eased Mr. Potter’s burdens - had that been the case, he would have made it out of the mirror without my assistance. In fact, despite this morning’s failed attempt, I believe he is capable of this. Whether it is wise for him to use his strength for such things, is another matter. As head of the Auror Training programme I was obligated to look past my personal opinion and give him an equal chance to the other students.”

“So what now, is he - is he out of the programme?”

“No, Mr. Malfoy, such is not the case. I did not introduce this mirror to Mr. Potter without the intention of teaching him how to overcome its horrors, should that be what he still wants after what he has seen today.” The professor was looking up at Draco. She was so short she probably couldn’t have reached the top of Draco’s head with her hand. “I can tell that you care for Mr. Potter deeply, and I would have you understand I am operating under the particularly close watch of the Auror Department. They are - how do you say - most _anxious_ to have Mr. Potter join them. I am merely trying to make sure he knows what he is getting himself into.”

Draco felt unease taking over him as he realized the situation. He hadn't really given it much thought before, but now... It would never be over for Harry. Being in danger, sacrificing himself for everyone. Being a hero. What an absolute idiot, Draco thought. Worry made a wrinkle on the bridge of his nose.

"He still thinks he has to fight, doesn't he?"

“Yes," the professor said, staring at Draco over her glasses with a pair of eyes that were milky blue and green, the colour of old ice. “Unfortunately it is not our place to tell him when to stop.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

“I believe a less forceful approach may be of the essence in this case. Something, how would one say…” The professor tilted her head, inspecting Draco with her piercing gaze. “Gentle. Yes?” 

“I’m not… Not usually that good at gentle," Draco muttered.

“Judging by the potions you carry in your pockets, Mr. Malfoy, I would say that you are either lying to me or have simply underestimated your ability.”

Draco glanced down. There was no way the professor could have seen what he had in his pockets.

“How do you-”

“This is not of importance. Go now, and tell Mr. Weasley that I am expecting him. He is late for his exam, and I would not have the mirror left in the hands of my assistants for longer than is necessary.”

Draco stood there, staring at Harry’s door. The portrait gave a long creak as Weasley left the dorm. Draco lifted his hand, but hesitated and lowered it again. What Weasley had described to him earlier about the way Harry had acted sounded like a panic attack, and having been through several of them himself, Draco was painfully aware of how almost everything seemed to make it worse. Especially attempts to help. He feared he was just going to upset Harry more by trying to help, but leaving him alone… That was even worse of an option. 

Draco pressed his ear against the door and listened. Through the silent hum of his own blood flow he could hear muffled, throaty weeps. 

“Harry?” Draco said as softly as he could. There was no answer, but Draco could hear movement. It sounded like Harry was in the far corner of the room. Draco remembered the window, and though he didn’t think Harry was in that kind of state of mind, he started to worry about it. He placed his hand on the door handle. 

“Harry? Can I come in?”

“No - not when I’m like this…” Harry’s voice sounded strikingly different from how it was normally. It was hoarse and somehow small, kind of as if Harry had trouble taking in air. Just hearing it made Draco cast _Alohomora_ and open the door before he had even processed what Harry had actually said.

It was snowing in Harry’s room. The air inside had turned cold and dense. Harry was sitting on the floor under his (closed) window, his knees folded against his chest and his arms crossed on top of them. He was holding tightly onto his wand. 

Harry lifted his head to look at Draco as he came in. His eyes were swollen and red and he had stray hairs sticking onto where tears had trailed down his cheeks. 

"Hi," he said and pressed his lips together as a teary whimper tried to escape him.

Draco looked at him and swallowed. For a moment he wanted to just, run to him and squeeze him as hard as he could. He could see Harry’s terror looming above him in the air, almost hear the merciless waves of his inner turmoil crashing down on him every time he tried to step ashore. 

Draco closed the door behind him, walked to Harry and sat down on the floor in front of him. He took a vial from his pocket and showed it to Harry, whose eyes widened in terror as he saw it. He shook his head.

“No, no, I can’t-”

“Alright," Draco said and put the vial behind his back on the floor where Harry couldn’t see it. He then turned back to look at Harry and held out his arms.

“Can I hold you?” Draco asked. Harry stared back at him, trembling. He nodded, and Draco carefully moved closer and wrapped his arms around Harry.

“He was back," Harry mouthed against Draco’s shoulder. “He was back and I wasn’t there - and no one believed-” His voice got caught in his throat and it sounded like he was trying not to burst out sobbing.

“It's okay," Draco said, rubbing circles onto Harry’s back with his hand. 

“I couldn’t do it, I didn’t know how - I just couldn’t stop looking at it. It was so _real_ , he was really back and I couldn’t figure out how, but I was gone and I couldn’t…” 

“It wasn’t real, Harry. He’s not coming back.” 

Harry tried to say something, but his voice was muffled against Draco’s hoodie as he shifted positions so that he could let Harry lean on him easier. 

“Where are we now, Harry?” Draco asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Just tell me, where are we?”

“In my room," Harry sniffled.

“And where is your room?”

“On the sixth floor," Harry said.

“Good," Draco said. “Of which building?”

“The dorms building…”

“And where is the dorms building?”

“In Paddington."

"Well done," Draco said.

"What do you mean? What's with the questions?"

"You're letting me distract you," Draco said and pulled back a little bit so he could see Harry. "When did you eat?"

"I don't know, in the morning at some point… " Harry held a palm to his head. "Fuck - It won't stop, I'm trying, but it won't..."

"Calming Draught would help."

Harry quickly shook his head.

"No, I can't… In the mirror I was - if I keep taking them I'll die-"

"Breathe," Draco said. “Look at me - breathe in with me, okay? I’m not going to make you take the potion.”

Harry looked at Draco and following his lead, took in a shaky inhale. Draco lifted his index finger.

“Now hold it - one, two, three, four…”

Harry held his breath.

“Exhale.”

Harry let out the breath and then Draco held him again, a little tighter this time. Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s hair and for a moment, they were quiet. It stopped snowing.

“I’ve been in the mirror too," Draco said. Harry tensed when he heard it, but Draco didn’t loosen his grip on him. “It was at a shop in Knockturn Alley at the time... I was just a kid. A nosey one too, and my parents thought I had gotten lost. They must have looked for me for hours, and then finally mum came into the mirror to get me. I’ve never seen her so angry.”

“Do you remember what you saw?”

“Some of it. At one point I was on a boat with my father - we were in a forest, travelling down a still stream. There was mist on top of the water and I was leaning over the edge of the boat to see where we were going, and then… Then I saw a rotting elk carcass in the water. It drifted past us very slowly and that's all that happened. I’d never really thought about death before and after seeing that I... I changed. So much so that my father wanted me looked at. I started walking with my head down because I was afraid I'd step on a bug if I wasn't careful. Then one time I saw Crabbe and Goyle torturing a spider and had a panic attack in the bathroom.” 

“What did your parents do?” 

“I’ll tell you," Draco said, “but we’re going to get off the floor first.” Draco got up and, having vanished the thin layer of snow still lingering on Harry’s bed, laid down in it on his back and spread his arms. “Come on.” 

Harry climbed onto the bed and laid down next to Draco, leaning his head on Draco’s chest. They shifted, looking for a comfortable position until their limbs were snuggly intertwined. 

“My parents tried their best to raise me to be less of a whimp," Draco finally said, looking up at the ceiling. “But it didn’t really work out. I only learned how to cover up how much of a wuss I was.”

“There’s nothing brave about torturing spiders," Harry said. ”I saw you in the mirror. Voldemort had killed me the previous night, and he - I _was_ him, he had taken over my body, and he was going to hunt down all the traitors, and you… You didn’t know it wasn’t me, you thought I’d survived the crash.”

“We can talk about that later when you feel better.”

“But, I killed - I killed everyone there was left, even you, even Teddy…”

“No," Draco said when he noticed Harry's breath growing frantic again, “no you didn’t. It was a dream. Tell me about Spider-Man - where does he live?”

Harry seemed a little caught off guard. Just as Draco had intended, really.

“He isn’t really, he’s just a character…”

“But in the comics, where does he live? Surely somewhere. Or does he sleep in a web?”

“No," Harry chuckled and wiped his eyes. “He lives in New York. His real name is Peter Parker.” 

Draco smiled. Harry was starting to sound more like himself again.

“And he’s a Muggle, right? So why do people call him Spider-Man?”

“Well, people don’t really know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. It’s a secret because Spider-Man’s a superhero, kind of like an Auror, and he fights all these villains - but they can’t find out who he really is so they don’t hurt his girlfriend - so he wears a mask. And when he has the mask, he’s Spider-Man.” 

“Does the mask give him some kind of magic powers?”

“Not really magic I guess," Harry said. “Peter was bitten by a radioactive spider on a school trip, and then the next morning when he woke up…”

Ron came home when it was already starting to get dark. He was greeted at the door by Neville who was on his way to the Owlery. Ron asked him how Harry was doing, and Neville said he hadn’t seen Harry that afternoon. This worried Ron, so he peeked into Harry’s room to see if Draco had maybe left a note on where they had gone. Instead of a note Ron saw Harry and Draco asleep in each other’s arms. Very carefully, he closed the door and turned to look at Hermione who had just appeared from behind the portrait. 

“Is he okay?” Hermione mouthed.

Ron nodded.

“They’re alright.”

Hermione smiled at Ron, letting out a breath she had been holding.

Ron glanced at Harry's door and sighed. He then smiled back at Hermione.


	17. Draco's Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally gets around to reading the postcard he and Draco received from Luna. It leaves him with many questions, most of which are soon forgotten about as Harry finds his mind wandering towards activities far more... stimulating, than what can be said about answering letters.

Harry woke up to a quiet rumble. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at a very much awake Draco. The room was dark, and while Harry remembered the conversation turning sleepy after an hour or so, there was no guessing how long they had slept. 

“Hungry?” Harry asked after letting out a content yawn. Draco tried to answer but the yawn passed on to him, making his arm tense up under Harry’s shoulder. Harry shifted to release Draco’s arm and he stretched it, no doubt to encourage some much needed blood flow.

“Yeah," Draco said. “I was still asleep when Ron came to get me, so I didn’t get a chance to eat.”

“Ron came to get you?” Harry said. “How did he get in?”

“No idea. To be honest, I’m more baffled by how much I’ve slept in the last 24 hours.” Draco’s stomach rumbled again. Harry smiled.

“Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll fix us something.”

“You cook?”

“Well, not to brag or anything, but I make a pretty mean cup noodle.”

Draco looked at him for a moment, a smirk on his face that eventually faded and left him with a thoughtful looking expression.

“Why did you kiss me?” He asked.

Harry was more surprised by how long it had taken Draco to ask than the question in itself. After that first kiss they had been sort of going along with it, worried (or at least that much was true for Harry) that words would ruin it, scare the other one away. Because this wasn’t a simple thing. Or maybe, despite the circumstances, it was.

“I wanted to," Harry said. “I didn’t think about it much to be honest. I just wanted to.” 

“But why?” Draco asked. “I mean- I know I could be worse-looking, but I’m still… me. And you’re you. You’re Harry Potter.”

“Blimey, Draco," Harry said, his brows raising in a pretend astonishment. “Am I really? The _famous_ Harry Potter? The Chosen One? The-”

“Oh shut up," Draco said, a smile softening his words. “You know what I mean.”

Harry did. He sighed contemplatively and tried to pick good words for his answer, to come across a way to explain everything without talking for too long at once. He eventually settled on something.

“At first I wanted to figure you out," he said. “I’ve always wanted to figure you out. And then when I did, when I started to get to know you better, I… I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Harry glanced at Draco and even in the dark and without his glasses, could still see that Harry's answer had made him none the wiser. “You’re funny," Harry continued to explain. “You can pick up when I’m being sarcastic and you don’t tell me to cheer up when I just want to complain. And, as you said, you’re good-looking. I mean, you were always good-looking, but when I saw you on the first day of Magical Injury, it was just… Ridiculous. Your hair was messy, you looked so, devil-may-care, and I couldn’t stop staring.”

“I noticed.”

“And you’re cute. You’re very cute.” To this, Draco gave an amused laugh. 

“No, I mean it," Harry said as he noticed Draco hadn’t taken him seriously. 

“Right," Draco said. “You’re mental, you know that? And what exactly about a skinny, bratty bloke who’s a foot taller than you makes you go, ‘oh, cute’?”

“Oi, you’re not _that_ much taller," Harry said.

“Am too," Draco said, his eyebrows raising as if having just received a challenge. "Get up."

Harry sighed and got up. And there they stood, Harry looking up at Draco, Draco looking down at him. He _was_ taller, that was a given, but surely not by a foot…

"See?" Draco said. "I have to crouch if I want to kiss you. Little man."

"Oh?" Harry said, defiantly tilting his head. "Prove it." 

Draco rolled his eyes but seemed unable to contain his smile as he leaned down. Just as he was about to kiss Harry, Harry raised his arm and gently tugged at Draco's hair at the back of his neck.

"Bending over for me are we," Harry said, his grin spilling over the corners of his mouth. "How generous of you."

Draco made a face that was a delightful mix of amusement and fluster, although Harry couldn't tell which one overlapped the other. 

"Blushing, Draco?" 

"Like hell I am - and how would you know, you don't even have your glasses on-"

"You're burning up though," Harry mouthed, his lips dragging against Draco's cheek. Draco breathed out in a way that sounded like he was very much trying to hold back from something.

"We," he said, "we were going to eat something."

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling as he pulled back. "Let's go."

They looked at each other. Neither one moved.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry about earlier. It's… it's a lot to handle sometimes."

Draco shook his head.

"No, see - you need to stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you', not 'I'm sorry'. Apologizing makes it sound like, as if - it's fucking frustrating because of course you're going to get a fucking panic attack after being in the mirror, you know? It's not as if you did something wrong."

"Well, yeah… I guess I meant more like - I'm not used to having someone just, _there_ for me, you know? And even if - like Ron for example, or even Hermione, they don't really…"

"Know what it's like," Draco said.

"Yeah. They don't know what to do."

"Well, lucky for you, you decided to snog the only bastard in this place with a thestral for a Patronus. Must say something about my booming mental health, don't you think?"

"Wait - you can cast a Patronus?" 

"Well, kind of. It's only worked once - it was after the battle at Hogwarts, after I left with my family. We ran into some dementors that were still circling the area and I was the only one who knew the spell."

"But - who taught it to you?"

Draco looked away almost bashfully. 

"No one really… I mean, I read about it when Umbridge found out about Dumbledore's Army and what you were doing. I sort of, just, didn't want you to know a spell I didn't. But of course I couldn't do it - none of the memories I used worked."

"Why did it work that time? After the battle?"

"I don't know, I guess… I did use a different memory. One I didn't have before that day."

Harry gave a confused frown.

"You used one from the battle?"

"Yeah," Draco said, still avoiding eye contact. "From when you woke up. After we all thought you died, I mean."

Harry felt his heart skip a beat.

"So you- and it worked?"

Draco nodded. 

Harry didn't know what to say. Luckily Draco's stomach gave another growl.

"Let's go eat," Harry said.

"Yeah."

They were slurping their noodles (well, not _slurping_ since they were trying not to wake everyone else up, but, something like that) under the dim, warm light of the kitchen lamp that hung low above the table. It was a little after midnight and Harry was starting to feel more like himself again. Usually it took him a few days after a breakdown to stop feeling out of it, but he had a feeling that this time, maybe due to him being distracted by the new person in his life, it would be different. In fact, it was already different. Harry didn’t have the feeling that he was going to spiral and end up somewhere where no one could reach him. Draco didn’t seem afraid of the darkness. Or at least he was on speaking terms with it.

Harry felt something sharp rubbing against his thigh and checked his pocket. He pulled out the postcard from Luna, the one Hermione had given to him on the same day he had kissed Draco. The latter probably had something to do with why Harry had forgotten all about it. He looked at the picture - it was of a Flobberworm that squirmed as the picture moved - and turned it around. The backside was covered in tiny handwriting, and Harry had to move the card closer to the light so he could see what it said.

_Hi Harry and Draco,_

_greetings from Africa. It’s very different here - the place is riddled with nargles, especially where there’s giraffes, and I’m really enjoying it. I got bitten by a snake just last week. It was terribly exciting, although it seemed to worry Rolph. It was almost as if he had been angry at the snake, even though it was me whose fault it was. I didn’t drink beet juice the night before you see, so there was no way the snake could have known I was just passing by. Neville told me that Draco was in your room the other night. He can see thestrals too, did you know that? I don’t like him very much, but that’s alright. I often saw a Moon Frog sitting on his head when we were at lessons. That’s a good sign, I think._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

Harry couldn’t help but smile as he read the card, although he had no idea what Luna meant by the Moon Frog being a good sign. Harry also didn’t know what a Moon Frog was, or whether such creatures existed, but this was Luna so that wasn’t what baffled him the most. What Luna had written sounded almost as if she had known that Harry had feelings for Draco, but that didn’t make any sense. No one had known about that, not even Harry himself for the most part, when Luna had written the card. 

“What’s that?” Draco asked. Harry handed him the card, and he frowned at the first words.

“ _Harry and Draco_?” He said. 

“I know what it sounds like, but here’s the thing," Harry said, keeping his voice low so their chatter wouldn’t wake up the others, “the only ones who know about us are Ron and Hermione, and this came a couple weeks ago.” 

“It says, ‘Neville told me’... Are you sure he didn’t just embellish the story a little bit?”

“Doesn’t sound like him," Harry said and sipped what was left of the broth in his cup of noodles. 

Draco finished reading the card and touched the top of his head. 

“What the hell is a Moon Frog?” He whispered.

“I have no idea," Harry said. He gave a smile. “But it’s apparently a good thing.”

“I don’t get it," Draco said, still staring at the card. “This is Luna Lovegood, right? The girl who was… They were keeping her and Mr. Ollivander downstairs. Why would she address the card to you _and_ me?”

“Well, she’s always been a peculiar one," Harry admitted. “But she also tends to see people for what they are instead of… Reputations and the like. By the way - how does she know you can see thestrals?”

“She told me about them in year seven, when we went back to Hogwarts," Draco said. “That was the first time I’d seen them, and I quickly realized not everyone did. She must have seen me staring at the carriages or something, because a couple of days later I was sitting by the lake feeling sorry for myself when she walked up to me. I got scared shitless since I hadn’t heard anyone coming, but she just sat down and started talking about thestrals and how she could see them too. To be honest I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, because I knew she was in Dumbledore’s Army and it didn’t really make sense for her to talk to me.” 

Harry was surprised by this.  
“What did you say to her?”

“Not much. She kept on babbling and I was trying really hard to ignore her but she didn’t really seem to get the hint.”

“That’s Luna for you," Harry said. “But I like her. She treats everyone the same. Even you and I.”

“I should probably go catch up on work”, Draco said once they had finished eating. 

“Yeah," Harry said. “Sorry for keeping you awake. Or, asleep, I don’t know.”

Draco raised a brow and Harry remembered what he had said about the constant apologizing.

“Right," Harry said. “Thank you for, uh… Sleeping with me?” 

Draco leaned his face onto his palm. Harry found out not longer than a few seconds later that as he had said that, Draco had met eyes with Seamus Finnigan who had been in the middle of sneaking out of the dormitory. 

“Ah, it’s always the forbidden fruit, isn’t it," Seamus said, a smug smile on his face. “Don’t you worry on it, lads. Your secret’s safe with me. Well, I’ll tell Dean of course," he said as he walked to the portrait, “but that’s it. No one important at least. Not the press, definitely. Unless they ask me, that is. A couple galleons for a scoop doesn't sound bad when you're dating an artist, just saying...” 

Draco and Harry stared in silence as Seamus closed the door behind him. They heard his whistling echo in the staircase.

“This is probably a really bad moment to ask you out," Harry said as the noise faded.

“Ask me out? What do you mean?” 

“Like, on a date.” 

“Date… What do you do on a date?”

“No fucking idea to be honest," Harry admitted. “Not listen to a girl cry about her dead ex-boyfriend but other than that, I’m pretty clueless.”

“What the hell did you ask me out for then?” Draco laughed. “Aren’t you like, supposed to have some kind of plan first?”

“Hmm… Yeah. You’re right.” Harry exaggeratedly looked at the ceiling, trying to appear contemplative. “Maybe you should ask _me_ out.”

“Does that seem like something I’d do?”

“Well, not really.”

“My point exactly," Draco said as he got up from the table. “See, I don’t ask, I tell.”

Draco leaned over and kissed Harry. They hadn’t kissed that day, and it quickly became apparent from the way Harry’s body reacted to it. It felt like lighting the first match in a line of matches that led into a dried-to-crisp forest on an August afternoon - it was just one match at first, but you couldn’t really light it without thinking about the final result. And just as Harry started to lose his track of thought, just as everything was becoming red and hazy and sizzling and Draco was wantonly, almost possessively taking the lead and all Harry could think about was how much he wanted to go back to his room and see where it all would lead if they let it, Draco pulled back. He gave a smirk and Harry could tell he was now getting his revenge for when Harry had teased him earlier. 

“Saturday around noon. We’ll meet downstairs.” 


	18. A Date and Its Consequenses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco go out on a date, and the aftermath makes Harry wonder if Draco knew what he signed up for.

On Saturday afternoon Draco took Harry to a little coffee place not far from Diagon Alley. The day was crisp but surprisingly warm for October. They sat outside and engaged in something that, to Harry, felt sort of like being alone, just, together. They were sipping on their drinks (a latte with extra sugar for Draco and a tea with nothing for Harry), and Harry was reading a book Draco had brought for him, insisting he start reading it right there and then. It was a detective story by a wizard author called Hubert Lanky, published in 1948 according to the title page. The book looked its age - it was bound in moss-coloured leather and had those golden lines that old books often have, decorating the spine. The pages had aged into a pleasant tea-stained colour.

Draco had said he hadn’t particularly enjoyed the book himself, but he had a hunch Harry would. Harry didn’t disagree with him - the story began to unravel right on the first page without excessive descriptions of landscapes or complicated histories of fictional families; all things that Harry tended to skip to get to the good parts - but despite that, he was finding it difficult to concentrate on reading. Across the round glass table, Draco was sketching a picture of him. 

Draco had said Harry looked best when he was busy doing something. Once more, Harry didn’t disagree with him; the problem was that so did Draco. He was hunching over his sketchbook, his knee curled under it and his other leg resting against Harry’s chair. He was wearing a black jumper, the collar of a striped shirt that wasn’t done up all the way, effortlessly folded over the neckline. Harry couldn’t decide which Draco he liked more: the casual Draco in hoodies and joggers he only ever seemed to catch a glimpse of accidentally, or this Draco, who always managed to look stylish and put together despite his wardrobe consisting of items that, out of context, could have belonged to someone’s grandfather. 

“Stop looking at me," Draco said. 

“Sorry," Harry said, and not having realized he had stopped reading, tried to continue. 

“You look so different.” It was perhaps the tenth time Draco had said it that day, but Harry couldn’t really blame him. 

On Friday Harry had finally gone to the barber, and was now sporting a haircut that still looked messy and unkempt (two features that Harry doubted would always remain a part of his look, provided he didn’t suddenly go bald) and considerably less facial hair. And as if that hadn’t been enough, Harry’s new glasses had been owled to him the same day. He had had to update his prescription, and for the first time ever he had chosen new frames for his glasses. They were still round but not perfect circles, and the frames were dark tortoise shell rather than wire. With all that combined, he had barely recognized himself when he had looked in the mirror that morning. 

“People keep saying that," Harry said, taking a sip from his tea. “Is it a good different or a bad different?”

Draco smiled and turned his attention back to the sketch. “I won’t say. Don’t want you getting too cocky and starting to grin before I finish this.” 

“Saying that pretty much defeats the purpose," Harry noted. 

“What is it?” Draco said, having noticed Harry’s smile quickly fading. 

“Nothing," Harry said. “Thought I saw someone going to Diagon Alley, but it was probably nothing…”

“Who?”

“Your father.” 

Draco glanced over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth turning downwards like they always did when he was disgusted by something. 

“He’d have guts showing up there," he muttered as he turned back to his drawing.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. After what he did during…” 

“Oh," Harry said. “But you’ve been to Diagon Alley since, right?”

Draco looked at Harry, and Harry saw in his face that he hadn’t.

“You have to let me take you to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes," Harry said, leaning forward excitedly. “It’s amazing, you’d love it.”

“You’re kidding," Draco huffed. “And what would the Weasleys say, seeing you there in this company? I think not.” 

“I don’t care what people think," Harry said. “Hey, look at me - I’ve been treated like I’m some kind of public property my whole life. No matter what I do, someone’s going to have a problem with it.”

“But this is different," Draco said. “Don’t act like it isn’t. Every wizard in London would be on your case.”

“Well maybe it is different. But I’m still not going to make decisions based on how some middle-aged wizards who probably haven’t gotten laid in the last decade feel about it.”

Draco snorted.

“Never heard you be so sassy before.”

“Oh, I am sassy," Harry said. “It tends to get me in trouble.”

“It’s pretty hot.”

Harry tried to contain his smile.

“You know, one time I was in Snape’s class and I forgot to call him ‘sir’, and then…”

Harry stopped talking when he noticed Lucius Malfoy walking towards them. Draco probably saw Harry’s expression change as he looked behind him and quickly turned back to face Harry, refusing to look at his father as he approached them.

“Hello, son.”

Lucius Malfoy had changed little from when Harry had last seen him. He was still dressed pompously in black robes, cane and everything - only his hair had changed. It had started to turn white in some strands. Other than that, he looked like he had recovered quite well from the war. No more bags under eyes or unkempt stubble on his cheeks. 

“That’s funny," Draco said, not looking up from his sketchbook that now lay closed in his lap. “Last time we talked I recall you saying you didn’t have a son. Been keeping busy with mum, have you?”

“Hilarious," Lucious said, dragging his words in a posh accent like he always did. He glanced at Harry, his nostrils twitching. “Perhaps we’ll have a word somewhere more… private.”

“Oh, I don’t think so," Draco said, now turning to look at his father. “See, I’m in kind of in the middle of something.”

“I see," Lucius said, giving a nod. “And why, if I may ask?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you insist on destroying what’s left of our family’s honour?” Lucius’ tone was light in pretend serenity, but the corner of his eye kept twitching restlessly.

“Do you want a list?” Draco asked, answering to his father’s passive-aggressiveness with made-up cheerfulness. “I can owl it to the manor - oh wait, you don’t live there anymore, do you?”

Lucius’ fist clutched the end of his cane a little tighter, and his calm expression started to unravel.

“How dare you-”

“What a shame," Draco said, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly. “Tell me, where did you drag mum this time? Russia? Cold there this time of year, as far as I can remember. But it’s not like the likes of you have much of a choice when it comes to picking out hiding places, is it?” 

Harry couldn’t help but be impressed by how quickly Draco kept coming up with things to say. He wasn’t even stuttering.

“You’d be surprised," Lucius said, correcting his posture. “The likes of _us,_ Draco, still have affluence in civilized places. If you’d just-”

“He’s not like you.”

Lucius’ eyes turned to Harry. 

“Do not speak to me of my own son, Potter," he said, spitting out Harry’s name like it was a curse word. “Better yet, don’t speak to me at all.” Lucius turned his attention back to Draco, leaning over to address only him. As he did, Draco leaned the other way to avoid his father’s hissing. 

“Why, Draco? You know better than to be seen with the likes of him.” 

Lucius was standing more behind Draco than next to him, so that had Draco wanted to look at him, he would have been forced to turn around completely. Instead, he looked at Harry.

“I know worse," Draco said. “But better? No. Now, remind me again - why is it that you think it’s any of your business who I spend my time with?” 

“Don’t be a fool," Lucius snarled. “Of course it’s my business, everyone knows whose son you are. What _we_ did for the Dark-”

“Careful, father," Draco said, interrupting Lucius and standing up to face him. He was as tall as his father, if not a little taller. “You’re causing a scene.”

“Then end this farce of an attempt to spite me and come home.” 

Draco smiled.

“Bold of you to assume I care about your opinion enough to spend my time with people you don’t like, just hoping you’ll see me.”

“Then what is… _this_ ," Lucius said, glancing at Harry and making it very clear he was _this_ , “exactly?”

“I’m not sure you want to know," Draco said. “Now, I think you’d better be on your way before I make such a fool of you that you’ll never want to show your face again, not even in Moscow.”

Lucius gave a laugh. 

“And how exactly, if I may ask, will you-” 

Draco held out his hand over the table. Harry quickly leaned forward and took it.

Lucius’ smile suddenly faded. He looked at Draco, eyes widened in rage, his knuckles white from the force with which he was pressing down on his cane.

“You…”

“Careful now," Draco said calmly. “Everyone’s watching, and I can do much better than just holding hands. So go. And send mum my regards, will you?”

Lucius grinded his teeth. 

“She’s not your mother, you... spineless…”

Harry circled behind Draco and grabbed his other hand just in time. Draco's fingers had already curled around the wand in his pocket.

“Leave," Harry said to Lucius. “Now.” 

Lucius stared at Draco for a moment. And then he left, his robes swishing as he did. 

Sunday morning, Harry got up and went to the kitchen for breakfast, only to find his friends, including Seamus and Hermione who didn't even live in the dorm, huddled around the table, whispering to each other.

“Uh… Good morning?” 

Seamus, Dean, Neville, Ron and Hermione all wheeled around to look at Harry in a coordination that was at the very least unnerving.

“You cut your hair," Hermione said in an oddly high-pitched voice.

“Yeah," Harry said. “Is… Is something the matter?”

“He’ll find out soon enough anyway," Seamus said. “It wasn’t me, mate, I swear.”

“What-”

“And not me, I never even told Luna about-”

“Could someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” 

Hermione took a newspaper from Ron's hands and handed it to Harry.

“You and Draco are on the cover of the Prophet.” 

Harry read the headline. _Harry Potter seen having coffee with ex-Death Eater_. The picture was a of Draco from the trials, poorly pasted onto one of the many pictures the press had of Harry, to make it seem like they were in the picture together. Although Harry wasn’t very pleased with Draco being referred to as an “ex-Death Eater”, he made a mental note to cut the picture out later and save it. After all, there was no knowing how long it would take before he would have a real picture with Draco.

“Slow news day then," Harry said, not really understanding what all the fuss was about.

“Did you read it?” Hermione asked.

Harry skimmed through the article. 

_Harry Potter, the defeator of he-who-must-not-be-named was seen near Diagon Alley on Saturday, having coffee with the son of Lucius Malfoy, who much like his father, is a known supporter of the very wizard Mr. Potter defeated in 1998. “They were just talking”, a bystander describes to the Prophet. “It looked like the young Malfoy, Drago, was attempting to make peace with Mr. Potter.”_

The article went on to describe how Lucius had shown up and argued with Draco, although the source apparently hadn’t heard any of the conversation. A Gringott’s employee had gone anonymous to reveal that Draco’s rights to the family funds had been discontinued over a year ago.

Harry huffed. “They didn’t even spell his name right.”

“But - is it true?” Hermione asked. “That you held hands with Draco and then Lucius left?” 

“Yeah," Harry said. He glanced around the room. Everyone was staring at him. “Does someone have a problem with that?”

“Of course not," Dean rushed to say. “We just thought, since you usually avoid publicity…”

“That maybe someone tipped the press off about you two," Seamus said. The only way he could have been referring to Neville more directly would have been to point at him.

“No, Neville-” Harry raised his hand to interrupt Neville’s defense, “I know you wouldn’t do that. It’s true, Draco and I were on a date and then…” Harry’s voice was silenced for a few seconds just by the sheer shift of energy in the room that came about when he had said "date". “Then Lucius showed up.” 

“Alright," Ron said, nodding in exaggerating bobs, “that settles it then. Come on now, let the man have a bit of breakfast in peace.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand though," Harry said after his friends had scattered and it was only him, Ron and Hermione left in the kitchen. “When Rita Skeeter saw Hermione hug me during the Tournament…”

“They immediately assumed you guys were dating," Ron said, giving a laugh. “What a git - I mean, Harry’s not even straight.” 

“Well, actually-”

“So you’re wondering why there isn’t any speculation now?” Hermione said.

“Yeah," Harry said. “I mean - it says I _reassuringly held Draco’s hand, saying I would forgive him_ , but that’s not what happened. It should’ve been obvious-”

“It’s not," Hermione said. “It’s like - you know all those famous historical figures who were queer?”

“Uh," Harry said and wondered if this was one of those history lessons he had slept through. “Not… Not really?”

“Exactly," Hermione said. “Kings and queens have been buried with their same-sex lovers for millenia and yet in history books it is always described how 'they must have had a wonderful friendship'.” 

“But I’m not a historical figure," Harry noted. “I’m still here.”

“But you _have_ made history”, Hermione said. “Besides - I thought you’d be happy that the press hasn’t outed you.”

“No, I am, I just…” 

Harry didn’t really know how to explain it, but it made him uncomfortable how foreign everyone seemed to find the idea of him and Draco being together. Not that they were _officially_ together or anything, but... Was the idea of it alone so strange that they could be seen holding hands and people would just, ignore it rather than address it?

“Don’t look so grim," Hermione said. “If it’s more drama you were expecting, I can assure you it will come if you and Draco keep this up.”

“Keep what up? Being seen together?” Harry couldn’t help but feel a little bit offended. “Are you saying we shouldn’t?”

“Well," Hermione said, tilting her head, “ _you_ may be used to all the publicity, but that doesn’t mean Draco is.”

“He’s the one who took _my_ hand though," Harry said. Surely he had known where that sort of thing would lead. It was inevitable. He was Harry Potter, and if they dated, sooner or later everyone would know.

“He may not have realized everything he does when he’s with you might end up on the front page," Hermione said. She noticed Harry was holding the book Draco had given him.

“Are you reading something?” Her tone was delighted.

“Yeah," Harry said, already drifting further into his thoughts. _Did_ Draco really know what he was getting into? Or was Harry just the furthest thing from his family Draco could imagine and therefore a seemingly good option? Of course, Harry didn’t think that, he didn’t want to think that, but with everyone’s attitude towards the matter… It was kind of difficult not to feel discouraged.

Despite having agreed they should both study that day, it didn’t take long before Harry got a paper crane from Draco. 

_Theo says there’s an article about us in the Prophet. Do you have it?_

Under the question there were two boxes, one for “yes” and another for “no”. Harry checked off the “yes.” A text appeared under it. 

_Can you come to mine? I’d like to see it._

Out of curiosity, Harry tried checking out the “no” as well. Another text appeared, overlapping the previous one. 

_Could you borrow one from someone and come to mine? I’d like to see it. And you._

Harry smiled. Since Theodore Nott knew about the article, there was obviously a copy of the paper in Draco’s dorm already. But Harry didn’t mind. Truth be told, he missed Draco. It was actually a little embarrassing - they had spent the whole Saturday together, and even so Harry had this ache in his chest. He kept seeing things he thought Draco would like and saying things he hoped Draco would have been there to hear, and having thoughts he wanted to tell Draco about but probably wouldn’t remember later. And he kept thinking about… things. Doing things, with Draco. Things he hadn’t done before, at least not with a guy. Things he hadn’t found himself wanting so bad before.

This didn't seem like a good time to be thinking of those kinds of things, though. Harry was already half-expecting Draco to call the whole thing off once he'd see the article. Many others like it, and much worse, would follow. It was inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just quickly letting you know that I've started at a new job, so it may take a bit longer than usual for the next chapter to be published. I want to take my time with that one since something quite special happens in it... ;)


	19. Jump For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has his first encounter with Theodore Nott, and though it is unpleasant, he soon forgets all about it as he and Draco are faced with a choice. The question is, of course: will Draco's voice-muffling spell work, or do ducks have especially good hearing?

Harry felt a certain desperation take over him about the whole situation as he walked to Draco’s dorm, the folded newspaper sandwiched between his arm and his side. It was becoming painfully obvious that he and Draco would never do anything without everyone talking about it, everyone having an opinion. And it wasn’t just because Harry was who he was - Draco’s family was very well known, not necessarily for their positive influence on the world, but still, the name Malfoy meant something. A lot, most of the time. And so did Potter, and it was as if Draco and Harry were trapped somewhere between the two, unable to escape.

This made Harry feel particularly anxious, because he didn’t ever remember feeling so good with someone. And Draco didn’t even have to do anything - just having him there in the same room, Harry felt like he didn’t have to think or worry or even be Harry Potter. And it had all come to be by pure coincidence. Had someone told Harry during the summer holidays that this would happen, he would have never believed them. But here they were, he and Draco, in a gray area, a danger zone where one either had to jump or turn back, and Harry didn’t want to turn back. He had never wanted to _not_ turn back as much as he did now, but the people, the press, everything… Everything was buzzing and prickling and moving and Harry just wanted it to be still. He wanted it to be quiet and empty and just Draco and him. Out of context.

“ _Graveyard dates_.”

Theodore Nott noticed Harry as he passed through the common area to reach Draco’s door. The boy - well, man now - snickered at him. He still, in Harry’s opinion, resembled a piece of string cheese. He had light hair and even lighter eyebrows that, along with his teeth, gave him a rabbity look. 

“It’s true then," Theodore said with his nasal, stretching voice. “Saint Potter has come down to greet the lower classes.” He was sitting in an armchair, looking like he was up to absolutely nothing. Harry saw a copy of Daily Prophet lying on the floor next to his feet and realized why Draco had asked him to bring a copy. Judging by Theodore’s tone of voice and the way he was looking at Harry with a stupid, very uncle Vernon-esque smile on his face, he hated Harry more than Draco ever had.

Harry was going to ignore Theodore, but then he said:

“It figures that you’d be a faggot, but even Malfoy… Rich. Tell me, which one of you takes it up the arse?”

Harry wheeled around to look at Theodore, squinting. 

“What did you say?” 

“Oh, I think you heard me just fine," Theodore said, standing up. He was as tall as Ron, although he didn’t look very intimidating. Harry’s arms were easily twice the diameter of his.

So in addition to being a pureblood supremacist, Theodore was also a homophobe. Harry tilted his head and wondered if arguing him would really be worth it. He hadn’t known he was bisexual for very long, and he certainly wasn’t prepared have these kinds of conversations.

“What’s the matter," Theodore sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re blind _and_ deaf.”

Harry briefly considered punching Theo, but then, he was also Draco’s friend. Or at least had been at some point. And it wasn’t like punching him would have made him any less of a jerk. Then again, a jerk with a bruise tended to be a quiet jerk… But also, maybe this just was how Slytherins spoke to each other? Then again, this wasn’t Hogwarts and Harry wasn’t a Slytherin.

“ _Ducklifors_.” 

A blue cloud of sparks approached Theodore, wrapping around him, and he started to shrink. 

"Fuck you! Fucking faggot, I'll get you for this-" 

Harry ignored Theodore's cursing - it didn't sound as bad considering his voice was becoming squeakier by the second - and watched as he turned into a duck. The duck stared at him for a moment and quacked. 

Harry turned around and saw Draco standing behind him, tucking his wand back into his pocket.

“What?” Draco said when he noticed Harry’s expression. “You honestly think I’ll let people talk to you like that? Come on. He’ll turn back in a few minutes.” 

Draco closed his room’s door, and pointing at it with his wand, said: “ _Quietus postesque_.”

“What a git," Harry huffed. “And you have to live with that guy?”

“I can handle him," Draco said. “Besides, he isn’t here much and when he is, he’s usually in his room wanking so he doesn’t give me much trouble.”

Harry chuckled. He sat down on Draco’s bed and Draco sat next to him. Harry gave him the newspaper and waited as he read the article. 

“I should’ve realized," Harry said when Draco put the paper down. “I should’ve warned you it would be like this.”

“If you apologize to me again I swear I’ll make you regret it.” Harry could tell from Draco’s tone of voice he wasn’t as shaken as Harry had feared.

“Oh?” Harry said, a smile creeping up to his face. “How?”  
“Don’t distract me," Draco said. "This isn't your fault and if I'm being honest, I wouldn't give a damn even if it was. I don't care what they write. I have nothing to lose at this point."

Harry's smile faded.

"I don't want to make it worse for you," he said. "Between you and your family."

"But you do," Draco said. "And I turn your whole life complicated. That's us. That's what it… would be."

Harry glanced down. His hand was next to Draco's hand on the bed. They were almost touching.

A silence lingered for a moment.

"Why did you kiss me back?" Harry asked.

"Don't you know?"

"No. To be honest, I was expecting something more like… getting turned into a duck."

"I always wanted you," Draco said after another silence. "Even back at Hogwarts. And I thought I was going mad - I couldn't tell anyone and even if I had, no one would have ever believed me or said, said anything that would've helped. You least of all people. Or that's what I thought, anyway. So I never kissed you."

"Were you surprised when I…"

"Surprised?" Draco gave a smile. "More like scared shitless."

"Why?"

"I thought you had somehow found out that I… And that maybe you were just, fucking with me."

"Well, I'm not going to pretend that isn't on my to do-list," Harry admitted, making Draco laugh, "but there's more to it than just that."

Harry sighed and and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He rubbed the bridge of his nose where his new glasses had left indentions. 

"I wish I wasn't anyone," Harry said.

Harry felt a weight on his back as Draco leaned onto him.

"I don't want you to be just anyone," he mumbled against Harry's back. 

"But if I was, we could do anything. This wouldn't be so complicated, we could just… I don't know. It feels like everyone has an opinion."

"Everyone does." 

"I want to not care. I just want to… I want to be normal."

"Nothing about this is normal," Draco huffed.

Harry sat up straight and lifted his arm, and Draco leaned onto his shoulder, letting Harry run his fingers through his hair as they sat in silence. 

"If I asked you… would you be my boyfriend?" Harry eventually asked.

"Are you asking?" 

"Well... yes."

"Do you know what you're getting yourself into?" 

"Do you?"

"I suppose I'll find out."

"So is that…"

"It's a yes," Draco said. "But it's… it wouldn't be easy. We'd get hurt, we'd both get hurt. And we'll hurt other people." 

Harry didn't answer. He stroked Draco's hair, his fingertips not quite registering how soft it was.

Harry was experiencing a type of perfect stillness he had never felt before. 

"You know when you're at a lake," Draco said, "and, you're standing on the dock looking down?"

"Yeah."

Draco's fingers were tracing nonsense patterns onto Harry's knee as Draco talked, his voice absent.

"And the water looks… You know it's cold and you don't know how deep it is, but it's _so_ clear and you can see every grain of sand and every little creature and you just want to dive. And you know you shouldn't jump because it's cold and people are waiting for you at the shore, but... you want to see what's down there and pretend you're one of them, a fish or a little shrimp who doesn't know anything about the human world and can see colours we can't." 

Draco lifted his head from Harry's shoulder and looked at him.

"You're like that," Draco said. "Like a lake."

Harry looked at him and felt his thoughts fall away. All that was left of them was a vague shape that spelled out "love", but Harry knew it wasn't time for that yet. 

"Jump for me," Harry said instead, and the room hummed in a white heat of possibility. Who was to say they weren't innocent?

It was just their mouths meeting at first, but then Harry could almost hear the surface breaking, followed by the masses of water muffling all sounds as the kiss turned hot and slick as Draco dove, gently pushing Harry onto his back on the bed. The Daily Prophet crumpled under Draco's knee and slid onto the floor. Harry only heard sounds of breathing and linen shifting underneath them. It all became blurry and melted away as Harry's heart started beating faster and, as inevitable as the Daily Prophet, the want started sizzling in his limbs. Everywhere Draco touched him started trembling for more, and with most of Draco's weight resting on top of Harry, there was little he could do except kiss back in fervent desperation and hold on to him, feeling the curve of his back, its form sinking and rising as muscled moved under the skin. 

Harry slipped his hand under Draco's hoodie and the shirt he was wearing underneath, his fingers wandering on the impossibly velvety skin. It was getting hot and without breaking the kiss, Draco sat up, Harry following him as they both, hands trembling with long unseen need, helped each other out of their hoodies. Draco wore a black T-shirt underneath, Harry noticed, and soon his hands were already both under it, claiming every new inch of bare skin as Harry reached for Draco's neck, lips brushing past his ear.

Open-mouthed, on a high off of tasting, breathing in Draco's scent, Harry kissed the side of his neck, nibbling and sucking and biting on the skin, leaving behind little red marks as if to say, "I was here". Carding through Harry's hair, Draco tilted his head in response and moaned quietly, low in his throat when Harry got to a particular spot.

This sparked a liquid fire to pool in Harry's abdomen and now unable to control himself with what he realized was Draco's erection pressing against him, he pushed Draco onto his back on the bed, mirroring the position they had started out in except now Draco's legs were on his either side from having previously straddled him.

Harry drowned Draco in wanton, deep kisses and felt himself get increasingly hard as Draco pulled the T-shirt off of him, leaving him shirtless and powerless against the blazing sensation that trailed after Draco's every touch. Harry bit back a breath that had almost escaped him as a moan as fe felt their erections press together when Draco hooked his leg around him.

Harry wasn't sure when he had started to softly grind against Draco but he had, and Draco's fingers were digging into his back, encouraging him, and Harry was so dazed in arousal that he was surprised he didn't come right there and then when Draco's hand reached down for him, fingers curling around the shape of his cock, stroking at it through the fabric. This time Harry wasn't so successful in holding back his moan. Harry felt Draco smile against his lips, swirling his tongue around Harry's, and Harry's chest fluttered when he realized Draco liked hearing him.

Desperate to turn the attention away from his own arousal before it would spill over, Harry reached down for Draco's hand and pinned it against the mattress beside them to keep it from tormenting him at least for a moment, and reached back down with his other hand to tease Draco, gently running his fingers over his crotch where his trousers were pulled taut before lapping his palm over it. The problem was, Harry knew exactly how good it felt, and his blood scorched in his veins in reaction as Draco's back arched and he murmured something incomprehensible against Harry's mouth. 

"What?" Harry said breathlessly, his eyes barely attempting to focus anymore.

Draco let out a breathy whimper, swallowed it down hard and said:

"Do you want to…" Draco's voice faded as their eyes met and admired at each other, both darkened in lust and desperation. 

"What," Harry breathed even though he knew what Draco meant. It wasn't as if he could do anything before he said it.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Harry said when he became too impatient to wait for Draco to form a coherent sentence. Draco's body curved against Harry's in response that was a lot more telling than the breathy "yeah" he said against Harry's mouth before Harry yanked his T-shirt off of him, letting it fall to the floor and leaned back to kiss him. Draco's fingers curled into the back of Harry's head and tugged at the hair, pulling him back as he breathed in a way that could only be read as asserting and teasing:

"Do you want to fuck me?" 

Harry swallowed down and nodded, delirious from how much he wanted to do it. He probably would've begged if Draco had made him, but instead Draco gave a smirk.

"We're not going to get that far if you keep talking like that," Harry muttered as Draco freed his hand from where Harry was holding it down, beginning to unbuckle Harry's belt as Harry hooked his thumb under the waistbands of both Draco's joggers and the boxers he wore underneath, pulling them down. 

"Do you have something," Harry breathed as they frantically undressed as much as was necessary, all the while lost in a kiss that never seemed to fail to get more intense. Draco reached for his wand that lay on the floor next to the bed, said something that Harry had trouble understanding but that was apparently some kind of lube spell - a small pool of translucent _something_ appeared on Draco's palm, and catching Harry just a little off-guard, Draco slicked it down Harry's now aching erection. 

"Holy shit that's cold-" Harry blurted as his body jerked in reaction. Cold or not, it felt good, way too good to have Draco's hand around his cock like that with no fabric in between, skin on skin.

Struggling to compose himself, Harry catched some of the excess slick before it dribbled down his thigh, coating a couple fingers in it before shakily pressing them against Draco's entrance. Just to prepare him, Harry slid a finger inside, rousing a soft moan that got caught in Draco's throat as his muscles willingly gave in. Harry carefully added another finger, hungrily taking in Draco's trembling and bitten-back moans, never letting him break eye contact as he fucked him like that for a moment.

Never missing a chance to assert his equal dominance, Draco stroked Harry's cock, his fingers gliding over the tip, teasing as they pressed it against his entrance. 

Harry's eyes blackened from the sensation, and now just barely restraining himself, he begged:

"Can I..." 

Draco pulled Harry closer with the leg that was hooked around Harry's lower back, and with his hand, guided Harry inside him. The sensation silenced both of them for a second - Draco was hot and slick and so tight around him that Harry's toes curled and a groan escaped him. 

"Oh fuck," Draco breathed, his back arching, fingers digging into Harry's back. Not yet confident it was okay for him to move, Harry stuttered:

"Is it- can I-"

"Just fuck me," Draco husked against his ear, his voice breathless. 

Draco didn't need to ask twice - dizzy for it, Harry started to gently thrust in and out, eventually settling on a pace that wasn't either brutal or slow, one hand stroking Draco's cock. 

"Oh fuck... Harry," Draco groaned against Harry's shoulder. The sensation of being buried to the hilt inside Draco was maddening, so good, so slick and tight and perfect, and Harry started losing every trace of control as he heard Draco whimper out his name. Draco, who was always in control, was unraveling, losing himself in how good it was and Harry kissed him, moaning into his mouth as he fucked Draco, greedily satisfying himself in the way Draco's body gave into him. 

"Is - is it good?" Draco asked through hitched breaths as if Harry's barely composed words hadn't convinced him. Harry's fingers curled around Draco's, their hands interlacing together. Harry began to freely murmur his thoughts into Draco's neck.

"Yeah, it's so good- fuck, Draco, you're so tight, it's so good, oh fuck..." 

Realizing Draco was very close, Harry didn't stop drowning Draco in the sounds of his own pleasure and praise. 

"Mmh, you coming for me Draco? Fuck, you're so- oh fuck... do it, do it, come for me Draco, fuck..."

"Fuck, fuck I'm gonna-" Draco whimpered as he came, his orgasm causing his whole body to jerk and Harry's throbbing cock to twitch inside him as his muscles tightened around it. The way Draco pulsed in waves left Harry powerless, delirious, he couldn't stop fucking him through it, and Draco was trembling under him, his release teasing, dragging itself out.

"Fuck, Draco... You feel so fucking good I can't - fuck..."

Harry felt the pleasure spill over - he came, incoherently begging for Draco's name, his orgasm rippling fire and absolute bliss into his every cell and his vision momentarily fading to white from the exploding release.

After the waves settled, they lay there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air as they caught breath. They were a little sweaty in euphoria that went beyond words, just jadedly looking at each other. Harry smiled, and Draco gave a chuckle. Draco wasn't wrong in laughing: it really was kind of ridiculous, unbelievable that they, out of all people, had just had sex. 

"You look so good," Harry mouthed, looking at Draco's flushed face, some of it covered by his messed up hair. 

"You too," Draco said, his fingers gently brushing past Harry's lips. "Merlin, this is sappy..."

Harry smiled, and the smile soon widened so that he was beaming. 

"I don't mind sappy."


	20. Sex Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns a few things about sex that his teachers at Hogwarts had failed to mention. He also finds himself accommodating two unexpected visitors, and it turns out Theodore Nott isn't the only one who read the article about Harry and Draco on the Daily Prophet...

Theodore Nott was no longer in the dorm when Harry left. Although it is debatable whether Harry would have noticed him in the first place, in his current mental state. He could’ve as well been walking a foot above the floor. He felt surreal, but not in a scary, dissociative way. Instead, it was like he had been picked up, given a good shake and put back down in a world that, in place of hostility and unfortunate events, was all of a sudden ripe with goodness and stars, endless possibilities for happiness written in them. Though Harry could not see his own face, he was sure a stunned grin would be plastered across it for a good few weeks if not forever. 

Harry almost walked into Larry the Giraffe’s portrait before he realized he had arrived to his dorm. Perhaps shy to talk to Harry after Draco had threatened to graffiti over his portraits, the animagus remained in his animal form as Harry said the password and was let in. 

Ron was sitting in the kitchen, reading something that looked suspiciously like school work when Harry came in. 

“What’s that?” Harry asked as he went to fill up the kettle. 

“A pamphlet for maintenance jobs in the Ministry”, Ron said. “Dad gave me this. Said they’re hiring.”

“Maintenance? You mean like, cleaning?” 

“Yeah… You know, in case I drop out and don’t find anything better to do”, Ron said, folding up the pamphlet and stuffing it in his pocket. 

“So your family knows that you’re…”

“Oh, hell no”, Ron huffed as Harry sat down opposite of him. “Just dad. He promised not to tell mum before I come up with a plan for what I’ll do next. Hell, she'll go ballistic.” 

“Probably”, Harry admitted and leaned back in his chair. Ron leaned forward secretively and gave a grin.

“Heard you got laid”, he said.

Harry nearly choked on his tea. It was no news that word got around fast in his friend group, but the thing was, he had only left Draco’s dorm ten minutes ago. And no one knew what had happened, except maybe Theodore Nott, provided Draco’s charm on the door had worn off at some point. 

“Seamus told me”, Ron explained as Harry tried to clear his throat, his eyes watering.

“But how- I literally _just_ came back”, Harry said hoarsely, battling the itch in his throat. “How the hell does Seamus already know what I was doing?”

“Well he-” Ron stopped talking and his eyes widened in realization. “You’re telling me you've done it _again_? Blimey, Harry...” Ron lowered his voice. “You two are bloody well going at it like rabbits!”

Harry frowned, struggling to wrap his head around the conversation.

“ _Again_? What - what are we talking about exactly?” 

“Well, Seamus said he has it on good authority that you two… You and Malfoy, you know… Did the _deed_ last Wednesday. You know, the day of the exam where you kind of, freaked out.”

“We didn’t though”, Harry said, still frowning. “Why are you interested in this?” Harry’s voice pitched higher at the end of his sentence from the sheer confusion.

“Look, I don’t like Malfoy, alright? But I’m still your mate, and since you’re not dating my sister, I thought, why not talk about it? Man to man.” Ron leaned back, clearly pleased in his effort. 

Harry stared at his best friend.

“You want to - you want to talk about what it was like to have sex with Draco?”

Ron made a face that could have very well been featured in the before-portion of a laxative commercial.

“Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but I really don’t think you want to hear it”, Harry said. “Besides, it’s not like we talk about you and Hermione…” Harry shuddered trying to continue the sentence. “You know.”

“Good point”, Ron said, nodding. “Good point. Let’s, uh… Let’s just agree we’re happy for each other, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment it was quiet as Harry sipped his tea. 

“So, you have any plans for tomorrow?” Ron eventually asked.

“What do you mean? It’s a school day.”

“No it’s not”, Ron laughed. “It’s Halloween tomorrow. We have the day off.” 

“Oh”, Harry said. “I didn’t-” 

Harry didn’t get to the end of his sentence before Dean and Seamus strolled out of Dean’s room, and judging by the way Seamus’ hair was pointing up at the back of his head, they hadn’t been studying either. 

“Harry, the old chancer!” Seamus patted Harry on the shoulder as he sat down next ho him. “I was hoping I’d run into you one of these days.”

“Oh?” 

“See, I’m not for earwigging personally, but since I happened to overhear that conversation between you and Malfoy a couple days ago, Dean and I figured-”

“He means _he_ figured”, Dean corrected as he sat down opposite from his boyfriend.

“Eff off”, Seamus laughed. “Me and the fella figured we ought to make sure you’re playing it safe, if you know what I mean.”

Harry didn’t know what Seamus meant and it probably showed in his expression.

“He means to ask if you’re using protection”, Dean said. 

“I’m no holy joe but seeing as we didn’t get much of a sex education at Hogwarts”, Seamus explained, “I figured that as the one who discovered your bi-ness, your gay uncle if you will-”

“That sounds very wrong”, Ron noted.

“What I mean to say is, you _are_ using protection, right?” Seamus said. 

“Uh”, Harry said. His three friends were looking at him in anticipation, although Ron’s expression was more derived from some kind of morbid curiosity by the looks of it. 

“Uh”, Harry started again. “Why would- it’s not like, he’d get pregnant…” 

Ron made a choking sound as it must have dawned on him what role Draco had played in the act.

“See?” Seamus said to Dean. “The man doesn’t even know about STDs, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I know about STDs”, Harry said, although now he was feeling like a right fool for not having remembered such a thing existed. “I just didn’t… It just kind of happened.”

“So does HIV”, Seamus huffed. “And what about lube?”

“Oh hell no”, Ron interjected, getting up.

“Oi, this is a sex positive dormitory”, Seamus stated. “Sit down. I’m sure Hermione wouldn’t mind you knowing a lube spell or two.” 

“There’s spells for that?” Ron said, reluctantly sitting back down.

“Of course there’s spells for that - Merlin, how are straight wizards doing it then?” 

“Well-”

“Best not answer”, Dean said.

“Agreed”, Harry said. “We did use one. A spell, I mean. Well, Draco did, but I didn’t… Exactly pay attention.” 

“See, if it was something like _Lubrico maxima_ , that one doesn’t have protection in it”, Seamus said.

Harry and Ron both snorted at the spell.

“It definitely wasn’t that”, Harry said through the laughter. “I think I’d remember…”

“ _Mador protego_ ’s pretty common too”, Dean said. “That one has protection. And then there’s _Contego chalo_ , but that one’s _cold_ , I’m telling you…”

“Then it’s that”, Harry said. “It… it _was_ cold.”

“At least Malfoy knows what he’s doing”, Seamus said. “Doesn’t strike me as a bottom, though, that lad.” 

“Well neither do you to most people”, Dean noted.

“What’s a bottom?” Ron said. “Is it like the one who…”

“Well, my friend, as the name would suggest”, Seamus said, turning to Ron, “a bottom is the one who _gets_ it, whereas a top…”

"Actually, I think I get it”, Ron said, swallowing down.

“And there isn’t just tops and bottoms”, Dean noted. “Some people like to switch, and a lot of people don’t even do the bum stuff.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he was in the middle of a conversation that had caused Dean to admirably casually say “bum stuff”. 

“There’s all these stereotypes about what bottoms are like and what tops are like and so on”, Dean continued, “but they’re really not true most of the time. If they were, then every top would be tall and dominant and masculine.”

“I think that would apply to you if you didn’t shave your armpit hair”, Seamus said.

“You shave?” Ron laughed. “Why?”

“It’s more comfortable”, Dean said, crossing his arms. “That isn’t the point. The point is, people are always being nosey, wanting to know who’s who in a gay relationship, but it isn’t that simple.”

Harry agreed with Dean. Even though, apparently, he was technically a top, he wasn’t at all sure about who had taken who earlier that day. 

“Well, what’s important is that you don’t have an STD”, Seamus concluded.

“A nasty bee? Where?”

The four of them turned to look at Neville who had appeared at the door. He was holding a pile of heavy-looking books with what looked like pressed leaves sticking out from in between the pages.

“I think we ought to spare the innocent one”, Seamus said. His friends nodded in agreement. 

Later that evening Harry heard a knock on his window. Behind it was Remus’ owl, looking quite miserable as it stared at Harry from the rain with its big, round eyes. Harry rushed to let it in, and it gave a displeased hoot as it flew in and settled on the backrest of Harry’s chair, water dripping from its feathers. 

“Poor guy”, Harry said as he closed the window. Rain started rattling against it once more. Harry squatted to pet the owl whose name he had always had trouble remembering - it was either Hector or Harold, something with “H” in it anyway. 

“I don’t even have any treats”, Harry said and untied the letter that was tied to Hector/Harold’s foot. Harry had never gotten around to getting a new owl after Hedwig. Instead, whenever he did write to someone, which wasn’t often since his friends were at Darthorn with him most of the time, he borrowed Hermione’s owl or just rented one. 

“You know, I don’t really have the heart to send you to the Owlery just yet”, Harry said. “Not in this weather. Will you wait here while I write back? It will take me a while, though.” Not really in the position to comment, the owl cocked its head and started to carefully clean the underside of its wings. 

Just as Harry was about to open the letter, there was another knock on his window. Confused as to why everyone had decided to owl him on the same day, Harry went to the window.

It wasn’t an owl that had knocked this time - it was Draco, on a broomstick, just hovering there, looking pretty much as miserable as the previous creature Harry had let in. Harry dropped the letter and opened the window.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry said, too confused to even laugh. Draco climbed in and practically fell to Harry’s arms as the broom escaped his grasp. Water was dripping from his hair, which to Harry's surprise, looked dark when it was wet.

“Ruddy broom”, Draco huffed and leered behind him as the broom flew straight back into the rain. “No wonder, really. I stole it from a broom closet a couple weeks back.”

“You’re soaking wet”, Harry said as he closed the window behind Draco. “Why didn’t you come through the door?”

“That bastard Theo was lurking in the dorm. Said he’d jinx me as soon as I showed my face. Obviously the git wanted to get back at me for what happened earlier”, Draco said as he cumbersomely pulled off the drenched hoodie that had plastered itself onto his arms. “So, I thought I’d come here and ask if I could maybe stay for tonight, but considering all the trouble I just went through, I don’t think I’m taking no for an answer.” Draco sat down on Harry’s bed and started to untie his shoes. 

“Whose owl is that?” He asked as he met eyes with Huxley. Possibly Hugo. 

“Oh, that’s- It’s Remus’. Just got here before you did”, Harry said. 

The owl tilted its head. For some reason, though it was normally indifferent towards humans, it wouldn’t stop staring at Draco. 

“What is Nott even studying here?” Harry asked as he sat down on the chair, careful not to bother the owl. “He doesn’t really strike me as the type to be at Darthorn.” Harry was right - Darthorn was a famously Muggle-positive institution and Theodore... well, he was famously _not_ that. 

“Politics of Magic”, Draco said dryly. 

“He’s doing PoM?” Harry said, surprised that they'd even let someone like Theodore into the programme with his father sitting a sentence in Azkaban.

Remus’ owl - Harry had now settled on the name Howard - flew to Draco’s knee, making him flinch in surprise. Looking suspicious, Draco offered it a hand. The bird nudged against it. 

“Did you feed it?” He asked Harry, who was perplexed by Harold’s behaviour. 

“No”, Harry said, “I don’t have an owl, so…”

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a clear plastic bag that contained something… alive. Squirming, slimy and black in colour.

“Is that a-”

“Leech”, Draco said, his nose twitching in disgust as he pulled it out from the bag. “I found it under my bed just before Theo started casting _bombardo_ on my door.” 

“But why did you take it with you? You hate leeches.” Harry watched as Huxley eagerly accepted Draco’s offering and downed it in one bite.

“Crummy place to die, wouldn’t it have been? Under my bed”, Draco said and looked at Harry, whose insides fluttered as imaginary butterflies came to be within them. “I was going to take it outside once I was here, but…” Draco lifted his hand to pet Hugo, and the owl happily snuggled against his arm. “I guess this bugger needed it more. What’s its name?”

“Ha- Hector”, Harry stuttered through the sensation of his heart melting. 

An hour or so later Harry and Draco were comfortably squeezed into Harry’s bed, Draco reading a book he had brought with him and Harry pressed into his side, reading a folded up volume of Spider-Man - the one where Mary Jane got kidnapped by a manic fan of her modelling pictures, to be exact. Harry knew the story back to front, so he was merely eyeing at the pages, trying to pick up on jokes he had missed before. When he was finished with it, he turned to look at what Draco was reading. It was a mind-numbingly thick book called “The Idiot”. 

“Didn’t know they wrote books about me already”, Harry mumbled. “Is it any good?”

Draco chuckled. 

“This was written in the 1860s”, he said as he flipped the page. “It’s about a man who’s too good for the world he lives in.” 

“Ah, so it _is_ about me”, Harry said. “The author obviously had a time-turner.”

“Joke’s on you”, Draco said, turning to look at Harry, “Dostoevsky was a Muggle.” 

The way Draco pronounced the author’s name made Harry think about their conversation with Lucius, and how Draco had asked him if he had taken Narcissa to Russia.

“If your mum really in Russia?” He asked. 

“I should think so”, Draco said as he folded the corner of a page and closed the book. “We used to spend a couple months there every year with father’s relatives.”

“Your dad's Russian?” Harry asked, his brows lifting. 

“Half-Russian”, Draco said as he leaned over Harry to put the book down. “His father was from here.” 

“But that makes you a quarter Russian”, Harry insisted. “Blimey… That would explain the hair and the eyes… And the sass.”

Draco smirked as he got comfortable next to Harry. Harry looked at Draco as he settled on his side, their noses almost touching. Harry still wasn’t used to how nice it was to just lay down with Draco like this, to just talk and be with him. To be… normal? Was it normal to feel like the world was all of a sudden made up of cotton candy, only less sticky?

“Do you speak any Russian?” Harry asked.

“Some”, Draco said and moved a couple strands of hair that hung in front of Harry’s eyes. “When we used to visit our place in Moscow, I had a friend there. Dimitri.” 

“Dimitri”, Harry repeated, trying to mimic the awe-invoking way Draco pronounced the name. 

“He didn’t speak English, so in time I learned Russian from him. And dad’s family spoke Russian to me, although they never really cared much for children.”

“Let’s hear it then”, Harry said. “Say something in Russian.”

Draco smiled, heavy-lidded, leaned over and murmured something against Harry’s ear. Harry didn’t understand it, but the foreign sounds in Draco’s voice, his breath tickling as it travelled down to Harry’s neck, it all sent an army of shivers down Harry’s spine. 

“Something lewd, no doubt”, Harry said as Draco pulled back.

“Lewd? Me?” Draco smiled, his canine teeth showing. One was pointier than the other, Harry noticed.

“Well it certainly _felt_ lewd”, Harry said.

“I see”, Draco said, his voice husky with content. “Is that a kink I’m detecting, Potter?”

“Don’t call me that”, Harry laughed. “Besides, you’re definitely the kinky one.”

Draco’s mouth opened in a disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, _I’m_ the kinky one? You’re one to talk, Mr. I-like-to-pin-people-down-and-be-bitten.” 

“You’re the one who pinned me against a wall though”, Harry said and poked Draco on the chest, where a very faint Sectumsempra scar was still visible. Before Harry could pull his hand back, Draco had grabbed him by the wrist and in one swift motion, straddled him and pinned him down on the bed.

“And you liked it”, Draco said. “Didn’t you?”

Failing to hide his flushed face, Harry said:

“Careful, now. What if Ron hears us?” 

“Judging by the pace new Weasleys keep popping up”, Draco said, lowering his voice to a teasing whisper as he leaned to speak into Harry’s ear again, “I would reckon his family isn't exactly made up of prudes.” 

Harry laughed as Draco kissed his neck. 

“But Harold is watching”, Harry protested. 

“Harold?” Draco said, frowning. Harry nodded towards the owl that was half-asleep on Harry’s bookshelf. “You said his name was Hector.”

“I don’t know what his bloody name is”, Harry admitted, making Draco laugh. 

“Well in that case, you don’t get to use him as an excuse to stop me from discovering your kinks”, Draco decided. “So, what is it? What makes you go hard?” Draco tilted his head. 

_This_ , Harry thought, but Draco continued.

“Tickling?”

“Oh, no you don’t-” 

Draco attacked before Harry could brace himself. They wrestled and played like neither of them had ever had the chance to do as kids, laughing themselves silly before eventually falling asleep in a tangled mess of hairy legs and arms.

The sun had already risen when Harry woke up. Draco was snuggled up against him, the hair on the back of his head tickling Harry’s nose. Judging by Draco’s breathing, he was still asleep. Harry had a hard time imagining Draco suffering from insomnia like he had said he did - every time Harry saw him sleep, he seemed to fall asleep enviably quickly and stay asleep until further notice. An ungodly amount of time, that is. 

Careful not to wake Draco up, Harry rolled over and reached for his glasses as well as Remus’ letter that still lay on the floor from the previous night. Harry had forgotten all about it when Draco had showed up, but now he was already anxious to read it. As per usual, he had promised to write to Remus and Tonks often and then forgotten all about it as the term had started getting more intense. Well, this time for different reasons than before, but still. After slowly, slowly ripping open the envelope, trying to make as little noise as possible, Harry pulled out the letter and unfolded it.

_Dear Harry,_

_I trust you’re well since we haven’t heard from you since you left. You, young man, have a bad habit of only writing to us when something is wrong, have you noticed that? (Did that sound enough like I’m scolding you?) We are well, although your godson is keeping us particularly busy lately. Dora has gone back to work at the Auror Department and Teddy hasn’t been taking it well. I hope you’ll get the chance to come see us soon - I think it might really cheer him up._

_The most curious thing happened the other day. I, apparently now the closest thing to a family member of yours, got a letter from Lucius Malfoy._

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, and he glanced at Draco who had now started to shift, sure to wake up any moment now.

_He was accusing you of ‘corrupting his son’ and me for ‘putting you up to it’. Now, as I’m sure you’re aware, I don’t exactly trust the Daily Prophet, but I couldn’t help but notice an article about yourself and Draco Malfoy on the front page this morning. I trust you’ve seen it? This sort of incident seemed far too unlikely for even the press to have come up with, and this combined with the letter, well… It is an understatement to say that I am keen to know what you’re up to. As much as your father would have appreciated the prank (if this is part of some prank), I am inclined to side with what Lily would have thought and make sure you’re not… How would one say… Up to no good?_

_Hoping it won’t horribly inconvenience you, I’ve decided-_

Someone knocked on the door. 

“Just a minute”, Harry said, not taking his eyes off the letter. Beside him, Draco sat up, blinking jadedly.

_-to come see you on Monday. Well, tomorrow. See, I would have come later, but full moon is right around the corner and I…_

“Oh, fuck me”, Harry said as he realized what was about to happen.

"What, right now?" Draco said through a yawn.

Harry turned his gaze to the door just as Remus Lupin opened it. 

“Thought you’d be still asleep”, Remus said, a smile on his face. “I-” 

Remus’ voice faded as his eyes fixed on Draco who, much like Harry, was in the bed in his boxers, staring at Remus like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. 


	21. Buried Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco have got some explaining to do. Harry confronts some uncomfortable thoughts concerning his future, and Draco shows unexpected interest in the fate of a certain house elf.

Harry had taken part in many awkward and tense breakfasts in his lifetime, but this… this was something else. Remus was sitting across the table from Harry and Draco, one leg crossed over the other, a mug of tea in his hands. He kept giving Harry these glances where he looked like he was about to say something, but then he pressed his lips together as if holding back laughter. 

Remus looked exhausted, but in a nicer way than usual. Instead of a dark shadow under his eyes, a couple new wrinkles had settled in the corners, making him appear more cheerful than before. But other than that, he was still the same; he wore bookish, brown clothes and his face was striped by diagonal scars, some old and translucent, some fresh and scarlet. 

Draco, who seemed surprisingly unbothered by the situation once he had gotten over the initial shock of waking up to his old Defence Against the Dark Arts professor barging into the room (perhaps because he didn't know Remus personally), was sitting up with admirable posture, Harry's lended jumper loosely draping over his form. Neither Draco or Harry had remembered to hang up Draco's soaked hoodie for the night, so by the time they had rushed to get dressed, it had still been damp from the rain that had poured down the previous evening. In Harry's opinion Draco looked very good in his jumper, and not only because it had the Gryffindor lion embroidered on it, which provided for delicious contrast when taking in account the circumstances; but it also felt strangely satisfactory to see Draco in his clothes, as if what was Draco and what was Harry had been fraying at the edges, dissolving into something much more exciting than what they were separately.

Harry was not sitting up straight, nor was he unbothered by the situation. His hair was all over the place, his now-boyfriend (the thought made Harry's heart beat so fast he thought it might jump out of his chest at any minute to do riverdance in between the cereal boxes) was sitting next to him looking unfairly put together considering he had woken up after Harry, and across the table, snickering at him was Remus Lupin, his… Uncle? Not through blood of course, but still, such was their relationship these days - and he looked as if a flood of all kinds of clever comments would burst out of him any second now. 

"How are you, professor?" Draco said once the silence had lingered for an unsettling amount of time. 

"Please, call me Remus. I'm, eh… I'm very well, thank you. And you, Draco? Your father seems quite worried about you."

"He's worried about himself," said Draco, who had been informed of his father's letter to Remus only moments ago. "His only son holding hands with The Boy Who Lived doesn't exactly help him regain a position within his… circle."

Remus nodded towards where Harry was sitting. "And this… I assume this, what I walked in on, is… Not just a particularly close friendship?" 

"It isn't." Draco's face remained neutral and Harry was grateful for it, because at that moment, at least privately Harry was a blushing mess of restlessness and fidgeting. He couldn't quite put a finger on why he was at a loss for words all of a sudden - that sort of thing didn't happen to him often. 

"So I take it that the article…" 

"It's true," Draco said. "For the most part. It said Harry and I were having coffee because I wanted to apologize to him."

"So that part wasn't true?" Remus tilted his head.

"I apologized to him a month ago."

"I see."

"We were actually on a date," Harry said, finally managing a few words. They tip-toed out hesitantly, as if checking whether the atmosphere was safe to say such a thing. To his relief, the smile that rose to the corner of Remus' mouth didn't appear amused, not in the wrong way.

"So Lucius was not wrong to worry," Remus then said, placing down his mug. "Harry really has corrupted his son."

Harry opened his mouth to disagree, but Draco's chuckle silenced him.

"If by corrupting he meant turning me gay, then the man is even thicker than I thought." Draco looked up at Remus. "He's also about ten years late in his observation." 

Remus and Harry both laughed, Harry with an added pinch of what felt like his heart stretching in an effort to fit a little more of this inside.

"Your father's letter," Remus started as the laughter settled, "I got the feeling that he wanted to somehow reach you through me."

"Probably true."

"So he won't speak directly to you?"

"No. And he's made sure no one else in my family will either," Draco said, fiddling with his sleeve. "Not that I'd want anything to do with them, anyway."

Remus' expression changed somehow. No longer just curious or concerned, he said:

"Not to pry, of course, but…"

"What did I do to deserve that?" Draco gave a joyless laugh. "I didn't do some of the things that I was supposed to. During the war, I mean."

Remus nodded.

"Did Voldemort torture you for it?" Remus asked, and Harry was a little taken aback by his forwardness. Even so, he couldn't help but look at Draco with an earnest passion to know, because he too had wondered the same thing.

Draco huffed in a way that said, what else would he have done?

"My father got the worst of it though. He hasn't walked properly since… it's really no wonder he didn't want me around his house. I just remind him of everything that went wrong."

"Or the choices he didn't have the courage to make," Remus said. 

Draco was silent for a while.

"So that's where Harry gets it," he then said.

The short silence that followed was full of questions.

"He seems to believe that deep down, everyone is a good person," Draco continued.

"And do you not?" Remus asked.

"Maybe I do," Draco admitted. "But I'd rather not. It's easier to expect nothing."

"Fair enough." Remus sipped his tea. 

"I was going to write to you", Harry said after it became clear that Remus and Draco were both starting to run out things to talk about. "I was never going to keep this a secret."

"Well, clearly not," Remus said, probably referring to the article. "It's very brave of you, as usual, but…"

"But?"

"But, I was wondering if you two have considered that this kind of publicity will only make Draco's situation worse."

"We have," Draco said before Harry could answer. "And I don't care. I mean- what more can they do? Legally I'm not even a part of the family anymore."

"Yes, but in the heart," Remus said, placing his hand on his chest, "in the heart you are. Your father - a parent can never truly stop loving their child, no matter what they do."

"Maybe so. But that's not really my problem, is it?" A familiar ice flashed in Draco's eyes and in his tone and Harry started to get worried, but Remus didn't seem to mind.

"Of course," he said, leaning back in his chair as if giving space to Draco. "You know, I once knew someone in your situation. Someone who was from a family not a lot unlike yours, and who rebelled against them and picked his own path in life… Of course, it's a kind of pain that never quite leaves a person, even when they find new people that become their family."

Harry's heart sank a little as he realized Remus must have been talking about Sirius.

"What happened to him?" Draco asked.

Harry thought, bitterly: he suffered in Azkaban for thirteen years and was confined in the house of the family he hated and was then killed by his own cousin. But that wasn't what Remus said.

"He worked hard to raise himself differently. He made some friends, even fell in love at some point, perhaps - and no, the world was not kind to him, as is often the case with kind people. But I don't believe that he regretted for a moment that he lived on his own conditions instead of someone else's." 

"Then he made it. He lived," Draco said. "To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people just exist."

"Oscar Wilde," Remus said, his brows raising. "Very good."

Draco gave that bashful smile that Harry liked so very much. Harry felt somewhat like a simpleton sitting there in his gray Donald Duck sweater, not having the faintest idea of to whom Draco and Remus were referring to. He would have liked nothing better than to impress Draco somehow, for he seemed to good and learned in so many things, while Harry often felt like he only had two brain cells, one of which was reserved for overthinking and the other for not thinking at all. Well, he was good at not getting killed, but that sort of thing didn't count for much at college where knowing a cheap pizza place that delivered was information worth more than all the defeated dark wizards in the world put together. 

"I wasn't going to say anything, because frankly I didn't think there was any truth in it, but Dora has quite the theory about you two," Remus said, his smile absent as it was directed to someone who wasn't present. "According to her it makes all the sense in the world that you two would end up together. How did… what did she say again…" Remus looked up, exploring his memory. "They're basically the same, only completely different."

The mentioning of Tonks made Harry realize something he hadn't thought about before, but now that he had, he couldn't believe he had missed it.

"Isn't… Wasn't Tonks' mother Draco's mother's sister?" Aware of how incoherent he sounded, Harry tried again. "What I meant is-"

"Teddy is Draco's first cousin, once removed," Remus confirmed, nodding. "Given the circumstances, I think it might be wise for you to reconnect with some of the forgotten branches in your family," he said, directing his words to Draco. "I hope you'll let Harry bring you to meet Teddy some day."

Draco looked at Remus, and Harry couldn't quite tell what he was thinking. Something vaguely melancholic and also grateful, judging by the way his lips pursed together in not quite a smile but not not-a-smile either. He nodded.

Later, after Draco had convinced Harry that he could handle Theodore Nott, Harry followed Draco to the door, not really knowing how they would manage a parting with Remus waiting in the kitchen, pretending to be very interested in the ceiling.

"Oh - wait."

Draco wheeled around and watched as Harry went to his room and returned with the Hubert Lanky book Draco had borrowed him earlier.

"You finished it already?" Draco asked as he took the book from Harry. 

Harry excitedly nodded.

"It was so cool - I couldn't stop reading it once I got to the part where the murder happened, so I pretty much finished the whole thing in one go."

"Merlin, you're like a puppy", Draco chuckled (Harry wondered if it meant that Draco found him cute), pulled out his wand and tapped twice on the book. He said something in Russian that Harry would have had trouble trying to find enough consonants for, had he tried to spell it - and then Harry watched as the letters on the spine of the book twisted, changed and rearranged themselves to form a new title. Now, instead of "A Murder on the Thames" it said, "Worst Quidditch Catastrophes in History". Draco handed the book back to Harry and nodded as if to encourage him to open it, and sure enough - the book had changed on the inside, too. 

"How did you…" Harry was perplexed as he turned the pages, looking at moving pictures of famous - and not so famous - Quidditch players, photographed as they had been interviewed for the book. 

"It's a Russian spell," Draco said as placed his wand back into his pocket. "Father used it to save space in the bookshelves… One book can fit six or seven books before the words start to spill out."

"That's amazing" Harry said, earnest as he turned his gaze back to Draco. 

"It's kind of like a mixtape but with books." Draco shrugged, looking a little bashful. "It's kind of lame, but I made it for you, so…"

Draco hadn't even finished shifting his weight from one foot to the other before Harry had captured him in a sudden hug.

"I love it," Harry said. "Thank you."

A sound came out of Draco that sounded like a mix between the words "oh" and "um", and as Harry pulled back, he saw that Draco's face had flushed. 

"So, I- I'll see you later," Draco said. "And good. That, that you like the book, I mean. Or love it, whatever. I mean, not whatever, but - fuck." Draco looked as surprised as Harry by his sudden stuttering. "I'm going now, okay?" 

"Okay," Harry said, aware that he was beaming.

After Draco had left, Harry walked Remus back to the main building where there were fireplaces for Flooing. They were taking the long way, strolling slowly and reluctantly as there seemed to be too little time and too much to talk about. Tonks was covering evening shifts that week so Remus would have to be back home early.

"I've never seen you like that," Remus said and nodded back towards the dorms building as they strolled past the giant oak tree. His tone wasn't particularly surprised or teasing. Just, observing.

"Me neither," Harry admitted. 

"I don't suppose you would hold it against me if I was a tad curious…"

"About how I ended up sleeping in the same bed with Draco?"

"Well, yes."

Harry gave a sigh and tried to gather his thoughts. It didn't help that he was still baffled himself by it all; on the other hand it felt like it had taken a thousand restless days and even more restless nights to get to know Draco like this, to realize he fancied him, but then on the other hand, now that he was talking to Remus it became clearer that all this had happened in the course of a mere two months. Everything, everything had changed, for reasons that… That felt painfully obvious but out of reach for everyone who wasn't Harry.

"For instance - I didn't know that you could see yourself being with a man," Remus said. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course."

"I wasn't expecting it either. I've never had a crush like this before where I..." Harry struggled to grasp the words. "Couldn't, physically _couldn't_ stop thinking about that person. To be honest, it scared me at first because that person… Well, I was pretty confident he didn't like me back."

"So it was you that made the first move?" Remus asked, now a tone of surprise in his voice.

"Yeah," Harry laughed. "We had been hanging out for a while and we had such a good time together - but I don't think he was expecting it. Well, I _know_ he wasn't. He told me later he was scared shitless when I kissed him."

"That it was some kind of prank?" Remus smiled knowingly.

"Yeah."

"And have your friends accepted him?"

"It was a whole argument with Ron, no surprise there. I told Hermione first and she was really understanding about it, which I don't really even get because - it's Malfoy, you know? I'm always - even now, even though I know you won't be a dick about it, I'm completely on edge, ready to defend him because I'm so sick of trying to make other people see what I see and I'm just scared that they never will. It's not fair because everyone praises me for what I did even though I pretty much had no choice, and neither did he, and he's so alone. And it's not that I don't know the he was a complete git at school, I do, but he also did good things, and brave things and now…" Harry realized he was ranting and smiled apologetically. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, despite everything, it kind of feels like there's no one else for me."

Remus smiled and placed a palm on Harry's shoulder, giving it a few pats.

"You know, I've had this exact conversation before," Remus said, looking up at the whimsically crooked tower that was the centre of the main building.

"Oh?"

"With your mother," Remus said, turning to look back at Harry. "I'm sure you're tired of everyone telling you how much you resemble your father, so I will say this much - you have more of Lily in you than just the eyes."

Remus gave a laugh to Harry's stunned expression.

"Merlin, the stunts your father pulled to get her attention…" Remus shook his head as if he still had trouble believing it. "And that they actually worked! I lost a bet with Sirius the day your parents had their first kiss."

Harry smiled at the thought.

"Were they so different? My parents?"

"Different, yes," Remus nodded, "but the same where it mattered most. They were kind people, but I'm telling you, for most of what time we had at Hogwarts they drove each other mad with that endless bickering and competing... But when they were together, it seemed that for them, no one else existed. Only them. And even so, I'll admit, when Lily told me she was expecting, I was terrified for the baby, well, you, because I knew what James could be like - but when you were born, being a father seemed to come naturally to him. Of course, I understand that part a little better these days, but back then… I suppose if it had been Ron in the kitchen instead of me, seeing Draco give you that book, he might have felt the same way."

They wandered around the main building. Harry knew what he needed to talk about next but wasn't at all sure how to bring it up. In fact, he had been avoiding even thinking about the matter since that one day, and now all that repressed doubt started to trickle out of him.

"So, how is school?" Remus asked as if he had known what Harry was thinking.

"I failed an exam."

Remus nodded.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. It happens to the best of us. You do so well-"

"I had a panic attack again," Harry said, his nervousness peeking through his tone. "I was the only one who didn't pass. What if…" Harry stopped walking, restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What if I just haven't got what it takes? To be an Auror."

Remus placed his hands in his pockets.

"I think we both know you do. You've proven yourself more than enough-"

"But what if I haven't got it anymore? What if-"

"Harry," Remus said calmly, "do you need me to talk to professor Toadsworth? I'm sure she'll let you try again."

"It's not that she wouldn't, I just… I don't know."

Remus crossed his arms against his chest. It was clear he was going to wait for Harry to continue talking. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. I just… I used to be so into this. The exams and studying and..."

"Well, you have been distracted lately," Remus offered. "You can allow yourself a bit of happiness."

"That's the thing," Harry sighed. "I'm happy. I'm really happy, but whenever I think about Auror stuff, I just… I don't know."

"Maybe you could visit Dora at the Ministry one of these days," Remus suggested. "She could tell you about what it's really like."

"And what if I don't like what it's really like?" Harry said, his voice small.

"Then you'll join the circus or become a carpenter," Remus said. "Or whatever you want. You're the only one who's holding you up to all these expectations."

Harry gave a smile and then laughed at a memory.

"Draco said I could run around London and hand out tiny hats to people."

"A noble cause," Remus admitted. "Shall I tell Dora to owl you?"

"Yes. Thank you," Harry said after swallowing down a "if it's not too much trouble". Draco's influence was starting to wear off on him.

Later that day Harry went to see Draco. He had come up with a good idea for a date and wanted to ask him out, and also, in addition to that, he hadn't seen Draco in a few hours which alone… It felt stupid to even admit to himself in his thoughts, but Harry already missed him. Being by himself was okay and it wasn't as if he didn't have schoolwork to do, but… Draco. Draco was there, _lived_ there, just one floor down. What was he supposed to do?

And although Harry was fairly convinced that he would annoy Draco by showing up unannounced, he was surprised with a hug right when he walked through the door. A hug so tight, in fact, that Harry was lifted off of the floor a good inch or so. Harry's heart fluttered as his feet dangled in the air.

"Miss me already?" Harry said.

Draco mumbled something against Harry's chest, but either he wasn't making much effort to articulate or his voice was being muffled against Harry's clothes, because Harry couldn't have guessed a single word of it.

"I missed you too- woah!" 

Draco let himself fall onto his bed, still holding onto Harry like he was a stuffed animal.

"Doesn't feel very manly being swept off my feet like this," Harry noted as he landed on top of Draco.

"Who gives a shit about manly?" Draco pulled back a little to look at Harry, platinum wisps of hair carelessly hanging in front of his eyes. "What did professor Lupin say?"

"About what?" 

"Were you dropped on your head as a kid? You and me. Like, how bad was it?"

"Bold of you to assume I was held," Harry said.

"Ah come on," Draco sighed. "I'll hold you so much you'll have a dent around your shoulders, just tell me - I don't suppose he just told you, 'yeah you and the Malfoy kid, makes total sense, when's the wedding?'" 

"Well, you're only half correct. He didn't ask about the wedding since I thought we should at least decide on a colour for the invitations first." 

Draco chuckled.

"So... he doesn't hate me? Like, he _actually_ doesn't-"

"Baby," Harry blurted out and pulled Draco tightly against himself. "Of course not. I'll beat up anyone who hates you."

"We'll have to set up some kind of waiting list system for tha- did you just call me 'baby'?"

"I may have." 

"That's… that's kind of gay, man." 

Harry grinned.

"So you like it then?"

"I may have."

"I want to take you to the movies."

"Movies?" Draco echoed. "You mean like, a movie theatre?" 

"Yeah," Harry said. "Have you ever been?"

"No."

"See, me neither. We should go, right?" 

"What do you mean you haven't been? I thought you were raised a Muggle."

"Well, the thing about being raised is, you kind of have to be not kept in a closet to take part in something like that." Harry twirled Draco's hair around his index finger and wondered what it would look like curly.

A small, worried wrinkle appeared between Draco's brows as he frowned. 

"A closet? The Dimsleys kept you in a closet?"

"Dursleys," Harry corrected. 

Draco looked contemplative for a moment.

"So, it was… Everyone at school kind of assumed, since you're- and since you did what you did-"

"I didn't even know about wizards until the day before I went to Hogwarts. Aunt Petunia always told me my parents died in a car crash."

"So the Dursleys didn't know either?"

"Oh, they did," Harry said. "They just didn't tell me. I suppose, had I known I was a wizard, it would have been difficult to get me to do all the chores."

"So they- those bastards treated you like a house elf, is that it?" 

"I- I guess so," Harry said. "I guess it depends on the master. Of the house elf, I mean. Dobby told me he got beat up a lot. At least I didn't have it _that_ bad, they just didn't feed me if I..." 

Harry noticed Draco's expression change. 

"I didn't mean-"

"No, you're right," Draco said. "You're right, we… I never hit him like father did but I wasn't nice to him. I was everything but nice to him." 

Harry didn't know what to say. He would have wanted to say that Draco didn't know better, that things were different now, but the words felt empty before they had even left Harry's mouth.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Draco asked. His eyes were fixed somewhere below Harry's neck, avoiding his eyes. "After you escaped that day."

"I do," Harry said, his lips pursing together at the memory. "Bellatrix threw a dagger at us when we disapparated, and it… he…"

"He's dead then?" 

Harry swallowed down and nodded.

"We buried him by the sea where we apparated. He liked the place." 

Draco drew in a breath, and as he let it out, it came out a sigh.

"Would you show me?"

"You want to go there?"

"Yeah. If you don't mind."

"Of course not." 

Before they left, Draco searched through a box under his bed and put something in his pocket. 

Harry took Draco's hand long before they disapparated.

_Here lies Dobby, a free elf._

They stood in front of the grave, the cold mists of the ocean wind blowing against them. The sky was gray and dark, the waters treacherous and uninviting.

"Father kept all kinds of magical artifacts around the house," Draco said. "He collected and sold them for a living, and when he kicked me out I stole most of what he had left. That's how I've been paying for the tuition." 

Harry watched as Draco pulled from his pocket an amulet that hung on a long, golden chain. It swayed back and forth in the wind, revealing itself as an eye of Horus symbol on a triangular base. It resembled a stained glass window with the eye being formed by translucent, colourful pieces of glass or crystal set in a gold frame. 

"This one," Draco said, gathering the chain in his palm, "father never sold, no matter what people offered him for it."

"What is it?"

"It's called a wadjet. The ancient Egyptians used them as a talisman for protection, good health and royal power. They'd be buried with pharaohs to ensure safety for them in the afterlife." Draco handed the amulet to Harry, allowing him to inspect it more closely. 

Black signs of aging had settled into the corners of the golden frame. 

"How old is it?" Harry asked.

"Roughly 5000 years."

Harry's eyes shot up to look at Draco. Though he had mentioned the ancient Egyptians, Harry hadn't expected…

"Even mum is begging me to return it," Draco said as Harry handed the amulet back to him.

"Is your father that worried about the afterlife?"

"I suppose he could be," Draco said. "But that's not what it's really for."

Harry took of his glasses to clean the lenses a little. It didn't so much good - little water droplets clouded them as soon as Harry put them back on.

"You know about the Deathly Hallows, right? And how a triangle symbolizes the Cloak of Invisibility." 

Harry nodded.

"The symbol is much older than Tales of Beedle the Bard. See, somehow the ancient Egyptians managed to enchant this amulet so that while you wear it, you can't die."

Harry's eyes widened.

"But that's impossible!"

"It's not as good as it sounds," Draco said. "If you get stabbed while wearing this, you still get stabbed. You still bleed out, you still feel the pain, you just never die."

"And if you take it off?"

"Then you die. I don't even want to know how many people have lost their heads just to have this stolen off of them. That's why it took me a long time to decide what to do with it. I don't want people to die for this, thinking it will fix everything."

Harry looked at the amulet. Whatever beauty he had seen in it had now faded into an ominous gleem.

"I once saw father deny an offer of twelve million galleons for this," Draco said as he knelt in front of Dobby's grave. 

Harry watched, speechless, as Draco placed the amulet in front of the tombstone and piled sand on top. 

"There," Draco said. "Now he's the richest free elf there ever was." 

"But why?" Harry asked, dumbfounded, as Draco stood back up. 

Draco gave a shrug.

"An apology, I guess. And a thanks. He did save you that day."

"A lot of other days too," Harry said, staring at the pile of sand that now hid within it a 5000-year-old amulet worth more than twelve million galleons. 

"Besides," Draco said as he turned away from the grave, "I'm petty by nature."

"But what about your tuition? How are you going to live?" 

Draco shrugged again.

"I have enough to last me for another six months. After that, I'll get a job." Draco turned back to look at Harry, a sly smile on his face. "I heard they're looking for cleaners at the Ministry." 

Harry couldn't help but smile at the thought of Draco Malfoy as a janitor.

"Why do you look like you're imagining me in some French maid outfit?" Draco asked, cocking his brow.

"I really wasn't," Harry said. "But now that you mentioned it…"

"Shove it," Draco said and took Harry's hand. "Take me to the movies."

"Alright," Harry said and pulled Draco closer, placing a kiss below his ear. 

"You're warm," Draco said as he wrapped his arms around Harry. They stood like that for a while, just holding each other, and in the freezing wind it felt like the two of them were a pair of penguins huddling together to shield against the weather. "Which film are we seeing?" Draco asked.

"Shrek," Harry said.

"Shrek," Draco repeated. "What's that?"

"I have no idea. I suppose we'll find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this latest chapter! I am currently in the process of moving houses and working at a new job, so it's safe to say things have been rather hectic. And I won't lie - certain statements made by the author of Harry Potter lately really struck a nerve with me and I've found it difficult to allow myself to enjoy the world she created in the current circumstances. But fear not - I have no intention of leaving this work unfinished! To quote Daniel Radcliffe:  
> "I really hope that you don’t entirely lose what was valuable in these stories to you. If these books taught you that love is the strongest force in the universe, capable of overcoming anything; if they taught you that strength is found in diversity, and that dogmatic ideas of pureness lead to the oppression of vulnerable groups; if you believe that a particular character is trans, nonbinary, or gender fluid, or that they are gay or bisexual; if you found anything in these stories that resonated with you and helped you at any time in your life — then that is between you and the book that you read, and it is sacred. And in my opinion nobody can touch that."
> 
> The "bold of you to assume I was held"-line is a nod to a great drarry post I saw on Tumblr once. If any of you happen to know it, please link it to me! My url is welcometothefrogparade.
> 
> See you in the next chapter! If you've enjoyed this story, please consider sharing it on Tumblr! If you have any questions or comments you'd like to send me on Tumblr, my handle on there is the same as my ao3 username.


	22. Proschay

One day in the early summer of 2001 Lucius tells Narcissa about his plan and at first, she doesn't like it. Lucius promises to not go through with it, at least not yet. Narcissa won't admit it, but she still hopes they won't have to intervene. That her son won't return to Darthorn for his second year, that he will return to them on his own after having suffered enough. She knows it's not right for a mother to wish that, but she can't help it. She misses her son and knows he must be lonely without his family, without his old friends. And Narcissa is angry with him, of course she is - for stealing from Lucius, for disrespecting him so blatantly, and even for leaving when Lucius told him to in the fit of his anger. Draco should have known better, he should have shown more loyalty to his family, if not to his father then at least to Narcissa.

Narcissa struggles to understand what has happened to her son who, what seems like until only yesterday, was glued to her side, babbling endlessly about Quidditch and books he had read and what that insufferable Potter boy had done at school. Draco has always been such a clever boy, but after the war he has gotten all kinds of twisted ideas into his head. It was as if Lucius, in Draco's eyes, is as cruel as the Dark Lord himself was. Narcissa doesn't know why it's so hard for Draco, who rarely has trouble reading into and understanding even the most subtle of shifts in facial expressions and tones of voices, to realize that all leaders start to abuse their power at some point. It's natural, it's how the world works, and just because they do so, doesn't mean what they originally stood for was incorrect. But with everything that has happened - with all the torture and death Draco has had to both witness and experience, Narcissa fears it's already too late to stop the stain of those memories spreading and tainting all that had once been beautiful about their little family. 

And when the ruthlessly hot August comes and reminds Narcissa of a summer she spent in Vladivostok with Lucius, the sun blazing her skin and long dresses flowing against her legs in the wind, only to be hiked up by wandering hands in the cool hours of the evening, she receives word that Draco has indeed returned to Darthorn. Narcissa doesn't know where her son has spent the summer, and it seems none one of the letters where she practically begged him to join them at their Moscow home have changed his mind about going back to live with Muggles and the most common and uncivilized of wizarding folk.

And so Narcissa tells Lucius to go through with the plan and contact the Parkinson girl. Just to get it over with. Just to bring an end to this madness, this postponed and all the more stubborn teenage rebellion of her son, to bring him home. Narcissa expects a couple months at the house will bring him to his senses. Narcissa's mother-in-law, for once in her life, agrees with her and complains that is it cruel to let her die of old age without seeing her only grandson for the last time. That's what Lucius translates her words into, anyway. There's a coldness in the old woman's eyes whenever she looks at Narcissa, and sometimes she suspects she's ridiculing her when Lucius insists she's complaining about the weather. The worst thing is, Narcissa can't disagree with her. She has done something wrong in raising her son, otherwise the situation would be different. Has she spoiled him too much with gentle words when discipline was needed? Probably. But Lucius was always stern with him, sometimes even giving him a slap across the face if he was being disrespectful, and Narcissa couldn't bring herself to do the same. After all, Draco was only a boy. Well, man now, wasn't he? He would never seem that way to Narcissa, though. One day he would have wrinkles around his eyes and sunken-in cheekbones like his father and Narcissa would only see the face of a curious young boy who wanted to climb every tree and jump in every puddle. But all that was so long ago.

The Parkinson girl fails in giving Draco Amortentia, and Narcissa can't help but think she did so on purpose. Either way, it's surprising. Narcissa never expected the girl's loyalty to be greater towards Draco than her parents who were both doing time in Azkaban - and who Lucius had promised to help in exchange for the girl's trouble. 

It's only when an essay about the misuses of Amortentia is published on the Daily Prophet that Narcissa and Lucius start to suspect the Parkinson girl wasn't lying after all with her ridiculous claims about Draco disappearing and then being seen at school the next day as if the Amortentia had had no effect on him at all. The essay is written by Hermione Granger and in it, she mentions coffee being used to disguise the scent and taste of the potion. The timing, the coffee, it's all too much to be mere coincidence, and Lucius starts to grind his teeth and mutter that the Potter boy must have something to do with it. Narcissa tries to calm him, to assure him that Draco would have never associated with someone like him and especially not the Granger girl, but even to her the idea doesn't seem so unthinkable as it would have a few years ago. 

Lucius travels to London to take care of some business and to try to track down his amulet that he suspects Draco has sold to fund his studies, and he promises he'll try to find out what really happened with the Amortentia while he's there. He's too proud to confront Draco about it personally, but Narcissa doesn't blame him. The war took so much from him, his son not among the least valuable things.

What happens when Lucius is in London shakes both of them to their core. It's much worse than they ever thought. Not only is Draco associating with the wrong sort, but with the Potter boy. And the article says Draco is apologetic towards him about the past and when Narcissa reads that, she feels despair pool in her insides - she wants to hold Draco and tell him he has done nothing wrong, and whoever has convinced him - and now her despair turns to tingling anger, because of course that's what happened. Too much time alone surrounded by the wrong people. Of course Draco had tried to fit in among them, and of course they had treated him like a war criminal, made him feel even more alone. And so he had turned to the only person who could redeem him. Narcissa is now convinced this is what has happened. 

She sits and thinks about what she should do - Lucius refuses to even speak of Draco anymore, he is too disgusted after seeing his son's hand being taken by the Potter boy. He keeps snarling at Narcissa, telling her she should've let Draco go to Durmstrang and none of this would have happened. Narcissa knows this. Again, her will to keep Draco close, to pamper him and spoil him, has made things worse for him. Narcissa remembers her fear of Draco forgetting how to speak English if he only spoke Russian at school, and scorns herself. Foolish woman, there are worse things to be afraid of, she wishes she could tell her past self. 

And by the time the first snow arrives, she has made her decision. Draco has gone too far for her to reach now, but there is someone who has saved his son before, someone who can be guilted into saving him again with words of family he never had, and loyalty he has too much of. A portkey is made and Narcissa travels to meet Harry Potter.

She arrives at King's Cross and takes the train to Paddington. She's not used to travelling this way, to being so close to Muggles and their undisciplined children who wail in public, but she can't bring herself to use wizard transportation. She can't stand the looks. And she's nervous, so nervous she doesn't want to apparate. She doesn't want the moment she is in the same part of town with Draco to come too soon. She wants to be calm and collected, but she's too desperate to bring him home with her.

It's snowing in London. A rare sight even in December, and Narcissa takes it in as she stares out the window and tries to ignore the Muggle woman with a squirming little toddler who sits next to her. She has missed England and it saddens her that there's nothing for her here anymore. She knows Lucius isn't planning on coming back, and she thinks him wise for that, because in Russia he is what he once was in England, if not more. Everyone knows him and he knows everyone, and they admire him for having served the Dark Lord personally. He has started to invite people over for dinner and Narcissa enjoys it because it reminds her of the way things used to be. But Draco is missing and she doesn't understand what people are saying and she hates it. Well, she _has_ started to understand a little. Lucius has promised to teach her. 

Narcissa gathers her hem, crossing her legs as the toddler sitting next to her bumps against her as the train changes tracks. Narcissa looks down to her right and sees a head full of blonde hair pulled in two pigtails. The girl looks up at her - she has huge, blue eyes - and giggles. Narcissa notices the girl's mother smiling at her and quickly looks away. Her gaze glued to the houses passing by, she thinks of the little sister Draco almost had. She only ever told one person about her, and that person took the secret to her grave. It's too soon to tell them, she thought, and not the right time. Lucius was stressed, Draco was stressed - Narcissa suspects it was the stress that took her baby, too. She tries to push back the thought, but she fails and she wonders how different life would be now. Vela, her evening star, would have been four years old. Narcissa hates herself for having chosen a name already, because now she can't stop referring to what had come out of her that night as anything else. Draco would have made a wonderful big brother. If Vela had been born, would Draco have left? Or would his love for his little sister convinced him to stay? Foolish thoughts, Narcissa scolds herself, but one more comes to her before the train stops. If Vela had been born, she wouldn't be all alone if Draco didn't come home.

Narcissa walks to the college. She's reluctantly aware of its location as her sister Andromeda used to go there. She is a traitor to the family and Narcissa doesn't like the idea that in addition to his school, Draco might soon have that too in common with her. Narcissa arrives in front of the college. A hideous-looking building, really. The main building is tower-like with smaller buildings surrounding it. The tower itself is crooked and appears as if it has been built out of mismatched pieces of old houses. Narcissa suspectes it's held together by magic alone, and that on the inside it's much larger and grander. Her eyes wander down to the front door. She sees it open and can't believe her luck - Harry Potter walks out and goes to lean onto a column maybe ten feet away, looking like he's waiting for someone. Narcissa knows a chance when she sees one. She clutches her purse tighter and starts walking towards him. Then everything goes wrong all at once - the Potter boy pulls away from the wall, hands tucked in his pockets, as the door opens again and Draco walks out. Narcissa stops dead in her tracks, but it's too late. Draco has noticed her and is looking straight at her, and now Potter too. Narcissa hesitates. She tries to turn back, but her feet won't budge. Her son isn't wearing a hat, she notices. It's so cold outside… 

Draco walks up to her.

"I thought you were in Russia," he says. His hair is carelessly swept back and his nose is red from the cold. It's incredible that he's right there, in that same winter coat Narcissa picked out for him four years ago… or was it five? Narcissa then realizes it has been a long time and that it's her fault Draco still has to wear that old thing. He probably doesn't have the money to buy a new one.

Narcissa's knuckles whiten inside her suede gloves as she squeezes her purse so she wouldn't blurt out something silly. How she has missed him!

"I was," she says, her voice fainter than she would have liked. "I came to bring you home."

Draco frowns and quickly glances back at Potter, who has stayed behind, waiting for him by the door.

"He will understand," Narcissa says. "Good friends want what's best for you."

"He isn't my friend," Draco says. He tilts his head and studies Narcissa with his eyes in that all too familiar way.

"Well, thank heavens for that," Narcissa says, nervously laughing. Why is she nervous? This is _her_ son. "Will you come home? Your father is willing to forgive everything if you'd just-"

"As far as I can recall, he doesn't have a son anymore."

"Don't-" Narcissa straightens her posture and pushes back the horrified expression that has momentarily escaped her. "Don't say that."

"Father said it," Draco says, shrugging. "Why can't I?"

"Because you know it's not true! He was just upset, you know what he's like- he didn't mean it."

"I don't think I want to come." 

"Please, Draco," Narcissa says. "Hasn't this argument between you and Lucius gone on for long enough already? There's nothing for us here anymore."

Draco shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and Narcissa reads this as promising hesitation.

"You could have a great future in Russia," she continues excitedly and lowers her voice. "They think highly of us for what we did. And what _you_ did. Grandmother Yana especially."

"But I don't."

Narcissa sees in her son's eyes that he wishes he could have done more, that he still regrets the times he hesitated.

"Draco," Narcissa says, holding a hand to Draco's cheek. "You did your best. And you were just a boy. You mustn't blame yourself."

"I don't think you understand," Draco says. 

"What don't I understand?" Narcissa says encouragingly, hoping that by being gentle she could bring Draco's mind back to the good times they have shared together.

"When I said Harry isn't my friend, I meant…" 

It's only now that Narcissa notices the kiss mark on Draco's neck that he's very obviously trying to hide with his hand. She glances at Potter, who is still waiting for Draco in the freezing cold. Her mind starts to piece it all together - the article, them holding hands, and then her memory takes her back. Draco had never stopped talking about Harry Potter, had he… But she always thought - surely it should have been unthinkable that he would...

"He's more than a friend."

Narcissa's stomach drops when her thoughts are confirmed. It's not that she didn't know Draco was gay, of course. She had even promised him he could be with whoever he wanted as soon as he would produce an heir, but this… How dare he? That her own son would betray her like this is beyond her.

"You must see now why I can't come."

"But why?" Narcissa asks, her voice trembling. "Why him?" 

Draco looks away.

"It was always him."

The words are like stabs to Narcissa's heart and she realizes Draco is unwavering. She recognizes that look in his face, because once it has stared right back at her from the mirror. This is it. Things will never be the same. Never. Not after this.

"I won't permit it," she chokes out.

Draco smiles at her, his expression bereft. 

"You never were good at scolding me," he says. 

Narcissa looks at her son and feels her heart break. All in one big crack, and she's left floating in the aftermath, powerless.

"Don't do this," she begs. "How can you be so cruel? I'm your mother. You can't push me away like this."

"I'm not the one pushing people away here."

"But you are, you're giving me no choice- you're doing everything you can to insult your father! How can you expect me to stand by you?"

"I love him, _mama_."

Narcissa shakes her head to banish the ugly meaning of the words, but hearing Draco call her mother brings tears to her eyes.

"See, you're giving me no choice- you're pushing me away-"

"And are you giving _me_ any choice? You're giving me an ultimatum- do as we tell you or you're not our son anymore."

"I never said that," Narcissa hisses, wiping away the tears as they roll down her cheeks.

They stand there in silence, and though neither of them moves, Narcissa feels the space between them grow too large to cross.

"You're going too far," she says. "Darthorn I could have accepted, but this… You're acting like a fool, Draco. He- his kind, they killed _your_ aunt."

"Bellatrix killed a lot of people," Draco says with a brushing off-tone.

"Bad people," Narcissa nods. "Don't speak as if we didn't teach you anything."

"You'd think it was pretty obvious at this point that I don't agree with what you taught me."

Narcissa tenses and Draco puts his hands on her shoulders. They're big, and all of a sudden Narcissa realizes she's looking at a man, not a boy. 

"I won't come home," the man says. "But whenever you want to visit me, you'll be welcome. I'll write you back. Maybe one day I'll come to see you. But this is the life I'm choosing and if you won't accept it, there's nothing I can do."

Narcissa's tears start falling again. She can't accept it, she knows this much already. And Draco must know it too, because there is little hopefulness in his words about visiting and welcoming.

"I missed you, _mama_ ," Draco says and Narcissa can see that he's about to cry too.

"I missed you too," Narcissa says. "And I will miss you." 

"He's a good person. I wish you could see that." 

Narcissa smiles wearily. Draco still sees things like a boy. Bad people, good people… if only it was that simple.

She takes Draco's hands. 

" _Proschay,_ Draco," she says, because in the English language there is no word that means both "goodbye" and "forgive me".

And with that, she lets go and disapparates. 

When she gets home, Lucius doesn't say anything. He just holds her as she cries as only a mother who has sacrificed everything can cry.


	23. The Bee and The Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds himself wishing for some peace and quiet, preferably in a room with Harry, alone and with a silencing spell on the door. Is that really so much to ask?

By rights, bees shouldn't have been buzzing around London in December. That sort if thing seemed out of place even to wizards who were used to all sorts of flying, potentially pointy creatures. So it's no wonder, really, that both Draco and Harry flinched when they heard an eerie buzz circling Harry's room one day.

It was one of those days, and there had been a lot of them lately, where they just cuddled and ignored homework and were stupid together. Harry pulled all sorts of stunts to make Draco feel better after what had happened with his mother and much to Draco's surprise, it actually worked. Not like a charm or a potion, not even like a proper distraction because Harry was always asking questions, encouraging him to talk about it, all of it, his parents and his life and everything that had gone wrong. This baffled Draco, because who would actually want to listen to someone complain and feel sorry for themselves? Well, Harry apparently did, and Draco couldn't help but feel quite grateful for it.

And it was actually on that very day when the bee came flying in that Draco was finally starting to feel better again. He hadn't realized until he had made a snarky comment about something and Harry had smiled at him in a soft way that was different from his usual smiles. It wasn't the mischievous smirk that belonged with his awful dad jokes (that always made Draco laugh, despite how awful they were) or his lewd comments that he hadn't sprinkled around as abundantly lately. Draco knew it was probably out of some kind of respect for his feelings or whatever, but he was actually slowly starting mind it.

If you're so horny, he often asked himself, why don't you just make a move? It wasn't as if he didn't have the balls to do it. He wasn't insecure, not around Harry anyway. It was just… He had wanted Harry for so long and had expected to gain some sort of control over it, eventually. To not feel so _much_ , to feel less powerless against it. It. The way Harry was. And how much Draco wanted to just take him. And for Harry to take him. And he had, but Draco wanted him to do it again. At the earliest convenience if not sooner - he wanted to have Harry, to claim him and be claimed and to stop thinking about what was the appropriate thing to do and whether this or that would seem weird and show himself, all his lust that had never really had a place to go. But there didn't seem to be good words to describe any of that, and so Draco had remained silent about it. He supposed that was why Harry still thought he was upset about his mother. Which he was, just… He had been upset about her for a year already, and how long can someone really fret over their parents before they start to think about other things? Like dick.

Just before the bee had flown in, Draco had been listening to Harry talk about how his visit to the Ministry to meet Nymphadora Tonks had went. Well, Draco _knew_ that was what Harry was talking about, but… His mind was preoccupied with staring down Harry's collar and wondering how such a god-awful shirt could look good on anyone. In fact, he had been a fraction of a second away from losing it and interrupting Harry with a kiss when they had heard the sound.

Harry immediately stopped talking and his eyes shot up to look at the corners of the room. Draco looked for the source of the buzzing too, but couldn't find it - it was almost as if - and then the bee was There, gross gross gross creature with no concept of personal space, and Draco and Harry scrambled over each other on the bed to get away from it. They shared a brief look that contained both a pact to never mention the screams that had escaped them both and a debate over who was going to deal with this.

"I'm not killing it," Draco announced, ducking his head at the insect even though it had now flown two feet above his head. "Fuck no." 

Harry fumbled for his wand but clearly it had rolled under the bed again, because he could manage nothing more but a poor attempt to hide behind Draco when the bug came around again.

"Can't you just, stupefy it or something? Or open the window?" Harry groaned.

Draco stared at him.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said. "Do you know how hard it is to hit something that size? Besides, you're the one who killed Voldemort-" Draco didn't get to finish his sentence because the bee, Merlin it was big, tried to come close to him and he threw himself down from the bed to escape it. 

Harry, in turn, hid under the blankets.

"Voldemort didn't have a stinger," Harry complained. "Maybe we'll just, take a comic or something and try to guide it out?"

"I'm not going near that thing," Draco huffed and decided to take his chance while the bee was still at the other end of the room. "Move over."

He squeezed next to Harry and pulled the blanket over the both of them so that only a small opening was left from where they could peek out. They watched as the bee circled the ceiling lamp.

"Merlin. We're pathetic", Draco said.

"It could be worse," Harry noted. "You could be stuck hiding from a bee with someone way less handsome."

Draco grinned.

"Prat."

Harry grinned back at him and again, Draco's abdomen pooled with a restless heat. He ignored it, because even he wasn't horny enough to start something while a flying murder bug was darting about. They returned to look at it.

"They're really useful though," Harry said. "They pollinate all the flowers and everything."

"Yeah," Draco said. "I suppose we should be grateful."

"Then again, I'm grateful for the sun but I don't want to touch it."

"Good point. Good point…"

Just as it was getting a little too hot under the blanket, there was a knock on the door. That immediately informed Draco it wasn't Weasley, and for that he was relieved. It was enough humiliation for the week that Draco had lost a game of chess to him. 

"Hey Harry, have you seen..." 

Neville was clearly on his way back from class. His knees were stained with dirt, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing arms dotted by small cuts from the thorns of the magical roses he was tending to at the college greenhouse. Yes, he had told Draco about them, and just about everyone else too who would listen. His eyes settled on Harry and Draco. He looked at them, then at the bee. Then back at them. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Hiding," Harry said, and at the same time Draco said "nothing". They glanced at each other.

Neville's brows raised.

"It's just a bee. They don't do anything if you don't swing your arms at them. Anyway, it's good that you've found him." 

Draco and Harry watched, perplexed as Neville held out his hand - Draco now noticed something glossy and sticky-looking on his palm - and the bee flew to him, landing in hesitant circles on his hand. Shielding it with his other hand, Neville smiled.

"He tagged along when I left the greenhouse. I was so worried someone would kill him! Thanks, guys." 

Harry and Draco stared at the closed door for a bit after Neville had left. 

"He should've been the chosen one," Harry said as he sat up. Draco smiled at the comment but couldn't shake the realisation that they were now alone, and with them spending a surprising amount of time as a group with Harry's friends lately, he decided he should take his chance. He sat up too, trying to think of a better way to approach the topic than "let's fuck".

He opened his mouth to say something, he hadn't even decided what yet, when an elf with strikingly big ears appeared in the room with a pop, grabbed his wrist with its boney fingers, and then the world shrinked and stretched and he fell to his back as the bed disappeared from under him. 

Draco recognized the ceiling he was now looking at - ornate panelling in amber wood - and groaned. He felt seasick. Rubbing his lower back, now sore from the impact, he sat up, reaching for his wand. It wasn't there. He searched again after hastily scrambling to his feet.

"Young master Draco has become so tall," the elf said, and now Draco recognized her too. 

"Why am I here?"

"Young master remembers old Ksenia's name," the elf said, still continuing in English with a cooing tone.

"Why am I here?" Draco asked again. He didn't have a wand with him, Harry would have no way to figure out where he had been taken… He felt the panic start to settle in. Ksenia served one person, and one person alone. It was clear from the way Ksenia now folded her frail body in half in a courtesy that she had now entered the room. Draco turned to look at the door of the drawing room.

" _Zdravstvuyte,_ Draco." 

Grandmother Yana hadn't changed a bit. She must've been close to ninety years of age but she barely looked seventy. Gray hair that let down would have been tailbone-length, was piled up on top of her head in an old-fashioned bun. She was wearing purple robes that Draco knew were expensive even from a distance, and she was wearing that smile that she always did when she was politely, venomously dealing with something unpleasant.

" _Zdravstvuyte,_ " Draco replied with the formal hello as he wasn't sure what else to say. It had been many years since they had last met and had it been for Draco to choose, he could have happily lived the rest of his life without ever speaking with the hag again. 

Grandmother Yana tilted her head.

"Why are you dressed like a mudblood?" She asked, her voice light and gentle. 

Even in Russian, the word rang more wrong in Draco's ears more than it had ever before.

"Why am I here?" 

"Two questions," the woman said, her eyes inspecting the corners of the lavishly decorated room as if she hadn't visited it in a long time. She probably hadn't - there were plenty of similar rooms in her mansion. "Same answer." Her eyes returned to Draco, now equipped with an unnerving squint.

Draco swallowed down, trying to keep his composure. He knew better than to reveal his fear in this company, although grandmother Yana had most likely noticed it already. 

"I got the impression from your mother that your intention is to let this family die out. Tell me, is this true?"

"I don't have to tell you anything", Draco said. A coldness that he hadn't needed to use in a long time was returning into his voice.

"Why should it matter, anyway? I'm not a Malfoy anymore."

Grandmother Yana's barely existent eyebrows rose.

"You have married the killer of the Dark Lord?" Her voice remained calm as she gave a small chuckle. "I didn't know they allowed such… unnatural unions in Great Britain."

When Draco didn't say anything to reply, she continued and turned to the window with heavy, mustard-coloured velvet curtains hanging on its sides. Her eyes reflected the white of the frozen landscape outside. 

"I warned my son against that Black girl, you know. Good family, he said… ha! I heard they even have a werewolf these days. Is it true?" 

Hating himself for not standing up for himself or Remus, Draco nodded. 

Grandmother Yana clicked her tongue. "That family has gone to the dogs. Literally!"

Draco watched her with eyes full of loathing. How he hated this woman! He could hardly believe the thing he had wanted the most as a child was for her to notice him. The last thing he wanted now was to play her game of calm remarks that contained venom inside, but he knew he had to play along if he wanted to get the information he needed to get back home.

"Do they know I'm here?"

"I knew from the start she was too soft to be a good mother. I told her not to spoil you so, and look what happened."

Draco's hands balled up into fists. He dug his nails into his palms so he wouldn't say anything stupid. Grandmother was talking about taking matters into her own hands, so they probably didn't know. 

"I'm not an heir anymore. Why should it matter to you what I do?"

"Well, unfortunately you're my only grandson." Grandmother Yana took out a silver case from her robes and pulled out a cigarette. She lit it with a routined motion of her hand and took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing. She let out the smoke from her mouth and watched as it curled into patterns in the air.

"So you're kidnapping me?" Draco said. "How eloquent of you."

The woman chuckled. 

"Don't be a fool, Draco. A sick goat is buried, not eaten. I don't wish to see any children from you." 

The words didn't sting much coming from a woman Draco had never liked as much as they confused him.

"Then why am I here?"

"Your name is still legally Malfoy, correct?"

Draco felt almost relieved at the realisation that that was all the woman wanted from him.

"You want me to change it?"

"Yes."

"Is that all?"

"Will you do it?" 

The idea didn't please, Draco, no. His name was all he had left of his family. But, then again, he had never been close with his father… And a name was just a name.

"I'll do it if it's so important to you," he said. "I can owl you the papers as proof when I get to London."

"You will do it here," grandmother Yana said, clutching to her cane, decorated with a beetle green crystal. She seemed to find the matter urgent. "I have owls ready to deliver the papers to the magistrates of Russia and Great Britain."

The woman unsteadily walked to a desk that stood in front of a window and pulled out a roll of parchment from the drawer. She nodded to Draco. 

Draco walked over, quickly glancing at Russia from the window before unrolling the parchment. The documents were already written out for him in both Russian and English. 

"What if I don't do it?" He said as hesitation hit him. What did the old hag gain from all this, anyway?

"Then we will have a problem," grandmother Yana said, smiling. "You see, I can't arrange a new heir with the name of Malfoy associated with Potter. You've been appearing on the English newspaper with him like some harlot. Lucius translated for me."

Arrange an heir? Draco's gut twisted a little. 

"Are they going to adopt someone?" He asked quietly as he started filling out his date of birth, place of residence and so on. 

"Do you think I'm going to let the influence of your mother ruin another child's potential?" Grandmother Yana laughed. "Foolish boy. I'm leaving everything to my other son. He will return home soon."

Draco turned to look at his grandmother.

"Other son?"

"I'm not surprised Lucius never mentioned him," Yana said matter-of-factly. "They never got along, you see. Of course, Adrik was already in _Matrosskaya Tishina_ when your father was born. He was my evening star."

 _Matrosskaya Tishina_ was a Muggle prison in Moscow that hid under it one of the most high-security wizard prisons in the world. 

"Adrik is 65 already and has been underground for forty-seven years," grandmother Yana sighed. "But I trust him more than your father. He will adopt someone and set things right for this family."

Draco almost took the quill to the parchment again before he said:

"What about my parents? Will they be taken care of?"

"If you sign."

Draco nodded. He hesitated for a few seconds and then signed his new name under the documents.

"Why is Adrik locked up?" He asked as grandmother Yana read over the documents and then sent Ksenia to fetch the owls.

"He admired a man from Europe. Grindelwald he was called. We read about him in a newspaper," the woman said.

Draco's chest felt heavy with the knowledge that his family seemed rotten down to the roots.

"Poor bastard, your father really told you nothing, did he?" Grandmother Yana seemed to enjoy Draco's grim expression. "Well, Lucius _was_ always jealous of Adrik. Tired of living in his big brother's shadow… I reckon that's why he really went to Great Britain, to make something of himself." The woman chuckled again. "And how did that turn out? _Blyat_ … A shame, really. If he had stayed in the motherland, he could have had potential." She deeply inhaled from her cigarette again, now in a considerably more cheerful mood.

"Did Adrik do… what Grindelwald did?"

Grandmother Yana smiled, and the smile soon widened into a disgusting grin.

"Lucius had big shoes to fill, growing up. Adrik and his little party killed forty mudbloods before they caught him."

Ksenia returned with the owls, and grandmother Yana nodded towards Draco.

"Take this boy back to where you found him. I have no use for him anymore."

She breathed out smoke and looked at the parchments one last time before rolling them up.

"Draco Black…" She huffed. "What an appropriate name for a black sheep like you. _Dasvidaniya_."

And before Draco had thrown his last look at the snow outside, the room stretched and distorted and pressure hummed around him, and then he was in Harry's room. It was empty - Harry had no doubt gone looking for him. But where?

"Young master Black will not mind if I depart now?" Ksenia said.

His new name sounding odd in his ears, Draco nodded and said absently, his mind already scanning for places where Harry could have gone: 

"Thank you."

The elf looked at him with some kind of bewilderment for a moment and then disapparated.

Draco turned to the door to go looking for Harry, but his knees gave in. Two inter-continental apparitions in one day had apparently been too much for his body... He was vaguely aware that he had fallen as a gnawing headache hit him. He groaned and suddenly felt like he was going to throw up. He tried to support his upper body on his elbows so he could get up, but the effort quickly faded with a thump into a blurred vision, and then nothing. 


	24. Two households, both alike in dignity...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of our story with a chapter filled with smut and holiday cheer! In August! Let the Christmas feast begin.

To be honest, Draco had expected the sex to get less intense after a few times. Less desperate somehow, after they’d get used to each other being around. But come to think of it, they hadn’t really gotten the chance to get used to anything yet, had they? Once Draco had regained consciousness at St.Mungo’s, he had quickly noticed that Harry wasn’t eager to lose sight of him again anytime soon. And so, what had originally been a gently placed invitation for Draco to spend the holidays visiting the Weasleys and Remus Lupin with Harry, had now turned into an imperative. And much even to his own surprise, Draco had resisted only the necessary amount to seem polite, and then accepted. And although he wanted to ease the restlessness of Harry, to whom Draco’s sudden disappearance had triggered something of an anxiety episode, his true motives, at least to him, seemed far less noble. 

In my defense, he thought, surprised that he was still able to do so while being intertwined in a kiss with Harry on top of him, who could blame me for not wanting to part with him? A rhetorical question, of course, for the queue for such an event would have been long and impatient. Which in turn, made flipping Harry around and pinning him down on the bed and freely and admittedly, possessively grabbing his thighs and pulling him closer, much more exciting. Harry’s lips parted a little in surprise, but as was typical to him, he quickly adjusted. He was a simple man at heart, Draco had noticed - as long as there was making out and eventually ejaculation involved, he didn’t seem to mind what Draco did to him. 

“So, are you going to come?” Harry asked, and unable to use his hands, blew some unruly strands of hair away from covering his eyes. Draco tilted his head.

“Have I ever not come?”

“No, I mean,” a smile spread across Harry’s face as he spoke, “are you coming with me? For Christmas?” 

“I thought we agreed on that already.” Draco rested his weight on his elbows, nudging Harry’s nose with his own. 

“I mean, I told you to come, and you said you would, but, do you want to?” 

“Do I want to come?” Draco repeated, not really able to hide the fact that he found the innuendo immensely funny. “Sure, Harry. I want to come with you.” 

“Really?”

“Yes. Now can we fuck?”

“Can you call me Harry? I rather liked that.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Draco murmured against Harry’s neck, brushing a hand against the heat of his arousal, “tell me, what else makes you go hard?” 

“Ah- I’m already hard,” Harry said, the first words coming out a moan as Draco grinded against him, not leaving any room for guesses as to what it was he wanted. 

Draco rose to his knees and pulled his shirt over his head. He could feel Harry’s eyes following his movements. Harry was biting his lip.

Draco cocked his brow. 

“What’s with the face, Potter?” 

Harry grinned.

“What do you mean?”

“You look like this,” Draco said and leaned back down, imitating Harry’s heavy-lidded expression. “Impatient, much?” 

“And you’re not? Well, I do have an assignment due tomorrow, so if you need a rain check-” 

Laughing, Draco quickly put an end to Harry’s false attempt at getting up, which resulted in Harry once more being pinned against the mattress by the wrists.

“I knew you had it in you,” Harry said, slightly out of breath from the sudden wrestling. He gave that devious smile that Draco doubted -and hoped- was reserved for his eyes only. It made him look so irresistible that Draco could control himself only for the time that it took to unbuckle his belt and pull it out of the loops, the rough edges of black leather resisting against denim, and then he trapped Harry underneath his weight again, tightly, and enjoyed the hitch in his breath that melted into a wet heat as Draco kissed him. 

Once more, open-mouthed, they fell into a rhythm completely of their own, already familiar, yet infinite in an entrancing temptation. At a moment as hazy and unknown to Draco as the rest, Harry had freed one of his hands from Draco’s grip and now his fingers were creeping up the nape of Draco’s neck, passing by the buzzed-short hair at the back of his head before finding the part that Draco’s barber left longer at his request, and interlacing his fingers into it, grabbing him, pulling him closer while wrapping his legs around Draco, and all of a sudden it was Draco, not Harry, that was so deliciously trapped. There was nothing in the world Draco enjoyed more than that strange, never-ending battle of dominance, and he never failed to give it his best challenge. 

He leaned into Harry, letting his hips settle at a grind that barely provided enough friction for either of them - he had learned to do so, not to give it his full effort all at once, because he wanted, he needed to hear Harry come undone in the unbearable anticipation, to have him beg for more, to tease him until he couldn’t take it anymore. Seemingly unaware of the scheming that was taking place, Harry moaned into Draco’s mouth as their erections were momentarily pressed together, an agonizing amount of fabric still in between. Before Draco had even had time to fully enjoy the reaction, he felt rogue fingers slide past the waistband of his boxers. Harry hadn’t even touched Draco as before his body already tensed at the thought of his aching erection finally getting some attention - and then it did, and a strangled moan was left a mere growl in his throat as it was received by Harry’s tongue and left unfinished, and for a moment Draco was enveloped in the warmth of Harry’s hand, his touch firm but dragging, teasing at the edges - and then it was Draco, not Harry, who suddenly found himself coming undone. 

Each time, there was a moment when the energy shifted, when the playing and bantering suddenly turned urgent, wanton, non-negotiable. This time, that moment came precisely now as with a small nod, Draco told Harry to sit up, stripping his upper body rather unceremoniously, letting the clothes fall over the edge of the bed to a space that at the moment, no longer existed to either of them. More removing of clothes with fumbling hands followed, and then a spell (Draco used _Contego Chalo_ just to edge Harry on with the cold that almost instantly dissolved into a pleasant slick against the heat of their bodies), and then everything was edges of blunt fingernails digging into Draco’s back, hot, hitched whimpers against his shoulder, native to the pleasure that was close to being more unbearable than the short moment of pain that came before it, and the thought that perhaps God existed after all. Against the background of a room of a sad, smoking poet from decades ago, wood panelling, yellowed pages of books no one reads anymore and all, Harry’s freshly-shaven jawline became the place for Draco to plant his half-kisses as he fucked him, his tightly enveloping warmth, too good for his words to do justice. 

“Fuck, Draco…”

Draco heard the words escaping Harry’s mouth, and he caught them into his own before parting with his lips just enough to breathe his air, and mouthed:

“You like that?” 

Harry hummed his response, his hands looking for tack on Draco’s back, but Draco didn’t let him spare his words so easily. He dragged his thumb along Harry’s lower lip.

“I said, do you like that,” he repeated, and regretted that his own pleasure was leaking through the words and eating at the assertion. 

“Fuck, I like that,” Harry whimpered. He was close already; he never lasted long like this, and neither did Draco. Judging by the throbbing state of Harry’s erection, whatever Draco said or did next could send him over the edge. Merlin, Draco thought, he looks so good like that... 

“You gonna come for me, Harry?” Draco said, groaning through the words.

“I think you know full well,” Harry started, pausing only to try and catch his breath, “that coming up with sentences is damn near impossible when someone is buried to the hilt inside of you.” 

“Is it? Then what was that?” Draco said, unable to stop a mischievous laugh from escaping. “Do you mean I’m not… deep enough?” 

As was Draco’s way, his words didn’t come without the corresponding actions. 

That was the memory Draco desperately held on to as Harry knocked on the Weasleys' door. Their house was called the Burrow, and it was fairly obvious why - it looked like it could have easily been the home of some fairy tale rabbits with little hats and aprons. Thinking about it like that made him feel a little less nervous, but only a little. He had procrastinated with the packing for days, and even picked up the habit of biting at the skin surrounding his fingernails, which he had never done before. Whether Harry knew it or not, this was the closest Draco could ever get to meeting his family. And they already most certainly didn’t like him, nor did they have a reason to. The closest memory Draco had of Mr.Weasley was from eleven years ago from a certain fist fight at Flourish and Blotts, and knowing that was probably the least problematic thing to have happened between the two families didn’t provide much comfort. 

"Don't mention Ron dropping out," Harry whispered just as they heard footsteps approaching. Draco took mental note, although the list of things not to talk about was growing far too long to remember. What was left, the weather?

When Molly Weasley opened the door, Draco was twice the amount convinced that this was the closest thing to a mother of Harry he was ever going to meet. She wore a dress with a cardigan and an apron over the both of them, all made up of a thousand different patterns and colours, and she, or the house, or both of them, smelled like nutmeg and oranges. As soon as she saw Harry, she let out some kind of delighted _oh_ and hugged him so tight it seemed a matter of pure luck they both didn’t fall over right there on the porch.

“Harry darling, look at you! The new glasses and everything - how wonderful to see you!”

The cooing continued until Harry started to blush a little, and then the woman turned to look at Draco. Draco couldn’t quite read her expression.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she then said and held out her hand. Draco shook her hand, not really knowing whether names should be mentioned. They knew each other, they just hadn't met. Besides, practically speaking Draco wasn't even a Malfoy anymore.

"Good evening, ma'am. Good... good weather."

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the snow storm behind her guests and gave an awkwardly high chuckle.

Harry quickly jumped in to fill the silence. 

“It looks great,” he said, gesturing to the garlands and lights that had been hung above the front door. For a moment, Mrs. Weasley beamed.

“Yes, we’ve gone all out ever since…" Her eyes fixed back on Draco, perhaps to ponder his resemblance to his father. "Tell me, Draco, how does your family celebrate?”

A burning feeling took over Draco’s chest, but he smiled politely. At this rate, it was going to be a long night.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

Mrs. Weasley seemed taken aback by the answer, and Harry looked like he was going to explain when Draco continued:

“It’s true what they write in the Prophet. I’m not- They don’t want anything to...”

Before Draco could finish stuttering, Mrs. Weasley’s expression changed, and she squeezed both Harry and Draco by the shoulder. She started guiding them into the house and smiled so that it became visible where the happy wrinkles around her eyes had come from.

“Now then, boys,” she said as they stepped over the threshold, “I’ve got a fresh batch of mince pies in the oven. We better get you two to them before the rest of the clan catches a sniff. As soon as Fred and George get here, we can get started on setting the table. You two look like you aren't eating properly - now, say what you will, but one of you is going to have to learn how to cook!”

"She's right, you know," Ron Weasley, armed with a grin, said. He was leaning onto the wall, arms crossed in front of him. 

Draco could only manage half a smile. He was somewhat used to the company of Harry's friends by now, but it was still strange to be at Weasley's house. 

Harry was then called to the kitchen to help with some plates, and probably to catch up in private because Merlin knew Harry couldn't reach the top shelves any more Mrs. Weasley could, and Draco was left in the living room alone with Ron.

"Nice place," Draco said, gesturing vaguely at everything in the room. "Really, it's..."

"Yeah," Ron said, swallowing down hard. "Thanks."

"I hope I'm not ruining your Christmas," Draco said. "Harry insisted."

Ron did them both the courtesy of waving his hand as if Draco's presence in his house on Christmas Day was the most natural thing that had ever happened.

"We just need to get one thing straight," Ron then said and glanced around the room before stepping a little closer. Draco was fairly certain he was about to get clocked when Ron continued:

"What do I call you now? If you want, I can stick with Malfoy, but I wasn't sure if that would be awkward..."

Draco raised his brows. 

"Um, I- How about Draco? Is that too strange?" 

"No, that's- yeah!"

"Because - I can't call you Weaselby in front of your parents, so-"

"Right! So you could call me Ron."

"Yeah." 

Not really knowing why, Draco held out his hand, and Ron shook it. 

"Merry Christmas then, Ron."

"Merry Christmas - Bloody hell, that's something I never thought I'd hear you say," he laughed. "Want to play chess?"

"Sure. But I'm warning you, I'm not going to lose this time." 

"Oh, we'll see about that! I've been practicing." 

Ron did end up winning that game of chess, but Draco didn't mind. Truth be told, somewhere along the way, with all of them sitting in the living room with the fireplace going and Harry sitting next to Draco, one hand nonchalantly on his thigh and a small, red glass of fire whiskey in the other, the lights of the irrationally decorated Christmas tree reflecting off of it, Draco had forgotten how chess ought to have been played. But that sort of thing can happen when one starts to enjoy themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay of this chapter!


	25. From ancient grudge break to new mutiny…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter of A Handful of Snakes.

Had everything gone according to plan, the Christmas six years later would’ve been similar. Harry and Draco had agreed to be at the Burrow at five - an optimistic estimate considering Harry usually got home from the Ministry at half past, but Draco was hopeful. He had to be, because today Hermione was finally going to reveal to everyone that she was pregnant, and Draco was anxious to be there and see everyone's reaction. 

Draco still couldn’t quite grasp how difficult it was to get anywhere on time despite finally having a fireplace connected to the Floo Network. Perhaps transportation was simply too easy that way; with commutes taking approximately ten seconds, one quickly began to assume that there was still time to have a cup of tea, to finish folding the laundry, to exchange a kiss or two, or otherwise… 

Draco took a sip of his gin and tonic, threw himself in his favourite, ghastly leather armchair that Harry had picked out, and wondered when his life had turned into waiting for his husband. He was twenty-seven years old and spent his time waiting for Harry to get home from work, waiting for him to finish with the paperwork, waiting for him to help with the dinner like he had promised, waiting for him to finally make a decision about his career… Sometimes, when they argued, Draco liked to exclaim that he was becoming nothing short of a mid-century housewife, to which Harry’s only comment was that he was arguably more handsome. 

Draco smiled into his palm and scolded himself for doing so. Marriage is about compromise, Molly's voice said in Draco's head. He often went to her for counsel, although it was a poor substitute for talking to his own mother. Another sip. 

The whole wedding had been a compromise, come to think of it. They had never wanted it to be a big deal in the first place, but after months of trying to find a potential empty weekend with Harry's impossible work schedule with no luck, they had decided (meaning Draco had suggested and Harry had apologetically agreed) to elope to Italy and get married quietly at an insignificant, poorly air-conditioned Magistrate office counter at a village that could have looked endearing, had it been featured in a rom-com. And so they had done, and of course Harry had promised to Draco with admirable eagerness that as soon as the aftermath of the Hackett case was dealt with, they would have a real party. 

An amused huff escaped into the bottom of Draco’s now empty glass. How many cases ago had this been? It must have been a year already since they had come to Fort William, so six months from the wedding. Draco leaned back in the chair, content despite everything, still in disbelief that they had managed to get the house. Not that they didn’t have the funds - though the same couldn’t have been said for Draco’s work brewing Headache Potions at a small clinic nearby, Harry’s work was well paid for. It was just the nature of his work that the loan negotiator at Gringotts hadn’t found most reassuring. According to him, Aurors were twice as likely as anyone else to get killed on duty, and even worse, not be able to pay back their loans. To this, Draco and Harry had glanced at each other and shared a smile. They had agreed not to tell the goblin at Gringotts that as soon as they had secured the house, Harry was going to quit. 

Draco had been patient with him, understanding even when it seemed like he was accepting new cases left and right - because eventually, the day would come when he’d come home from work and find Harry there with dinner and a grin, and he would tell Draco to guess what. 

Today was supposed to have been that day, but it was already a quarter past five and the cottage in Fort William, reluctantly funded by Gringotts, was lacking one of two spouses. 

Just as Draco was about to get up and go browse his wardrobe for a less grim-looking suit, the fireplace crackled green and Harry stepped out. It was strange how, despite Draco’s love-hate-relationship with it, the uniform never failed to make Harry look like the most magnetic force of a man to ever walk the planet. This alone, however, didn’t make Draco blind to the fact that Harry was holding a file with the Ministry “M” embossed on it, and Draco knew what that meant. Though he would have liked to ignore it or at least pretend to, the disappointment made his gaze fixate on the embossed letter, complete with a gilding of gold leaf. 

“You look good," Harry said, and gave his best weary smile.

“You too. We should go.” 

“Hey-”

They looked at each other, and Draco knew without asking that Harry would have a long and profound explanation. He always did, and it was always true, but it didn’t make things any easier.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but-”

“No matter,” Draco said too quickly for it to sound natural. “I’m used to it." 

Harry pressed his lips together.

“I don’t want you to be used to this. I'm sorry.”

“I don’t know what you expect. This is what you keep choosing for us - and you know, I’ll help you through all the breakdowns that you need to have, but you’d think that at some point,” Draco pinched his eyes together, knowing he was letting his frustration out more than had been his intention, “you’d think that maybe at some point you’d stop trying not to disappoint everyone at work and be more worried about disappointing me.”

There was no defensiveness in Harry’s eyes when he looked at Draco, reached for his arm, but Draco didn’t let him. 

“You need to get your shit together, Harry. McGonagall is practically begging you to teach next year, you keep promising me a weekend off there and a holiday there and it never happens! And you know, I don’t need you to take me to Bora Bora. I don’t need a whole weekend. I just need you to not be so fucking burned out all the time that as soon as you come home from work, you pass out on the couch. I need you to look after yourself, because I can’t do that for you while trying to write a thesis and get out of this shit job. I can't. I need you...” Draco carded through his hair, displeased that they were having this conversation on Christmas Eve. "I need you around."

“I don’t expect you to believe it, but it really wasn’t my intention that this would go on for so long.” 

“No, I believe you,” Draco said, shrugging. “I do.”

“This is my last case,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t even have taken it if-”

“I’ve heard this before. Just tell me when it’s finished.”

“No, I won’t,” Harry said, and there was now a coldness in his voice that Draco hadn’t heard in a long time. “I need your help.” 

Draco frowned, and his heart beat faster, whispering things of war and murder and awful things that couldn't be avoided.

“What do you mean?” 

Harry took the file from under his arm and opened it, pulling out a newspaper clipping. Draco immediately recognized which paper it was from, though he hadn’t seen one in years.

“You can read this, right?” 

Draco took the clipping and looked at the cyrillic letters. The language came back to him in fragments and then all at once, though he had to stop once or twice out of the pure confusion of seeing his old family name being mentioned in writing. It had been years since the Prophet had placed any interest in them, probably partly because they didn’t know that the Malfoys had returned to Moscow for good. 

The article was from a Russian newspaper that not so humbly called itself “The News”, implying that the events of the local wizarding society were the only news worth printing, or reading for that matter. The article itself declared that mournful events would soon cast a shadow on all of Moscow, as Adrik Malfoy, head of the esteemed family, was close to dying. Though the article referenced his adopted son numerous times, a name was never mentioned nor was he interviewed - instead, all comments were from who else but Grandmother Yana. 

“It says-”

“I know what it says,” Harry interrupted and took the clipping. “There’s more to it. Do you know who the new heir is?”

“No,” Draco said and crossed his arms. “Harry, what’s going on?”

Harry closed the file and placed it back under his arm. Draco found it unsettling that he hadn’t even taken off his coat.

“I didn’t get the case from Tonks. She already knows I’m quitting. In fact, from what Arthur tells me, some people pretty high up had planned to keep me out of this altogether.” 

“So Arthur gave you the case?”

“Unofficially, yes. His office got a report last Tuesday that a Russian man has been walking about Knockturn Alley, asking questions about a Wadjet.” 

It didn’t take Draco long to add two and two together. He got a sudden sinking feeling.  
“So the heir knows I stole it from father,” Draco said. “He needs it to save Adrik… He assumes I sold it, so now he’s looking for it...”

Harry nodded.

Draco thought about a certain pile of sand near Shell Cottage with a house elf and an amulet worth more than all the treasures at Gringotts lying beneath it, and shuddered. An image flashed his mind - an image of a small corpse wrapped up in white linens, dug up from the cold sand and left there. Draco pushed the thought away. Only Harry knew where the amulet was.

“He isn’t going to find it,” Draco said.

“And when he doesn’t find it,” Harry said, now stepping closer to Draco, “he’s going to come looking for the only person he knows for sure had the amulet at one point.” 

Draco swallowed down hard.

"We aren't going to the Burrow today, are we?" 

Harry didn't answer, which alone was answer enough. He wrapped his arms tightly around Draco, though Draco could tell from the weight of his arms that he was exhausted. Harry smelled like himself. Harry Potter's Auror Adventures, and coffee. Dark magic and alleyways. An ugly world filled with vendetta that Draco had once lived in, but had had no intention of returning to. Except, perhaps, if it was to save his future from being clouded by the muddy waters of his past. A past that, admittedly, he had been too eager to leave behind and think it wouldn't come back to haunt him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, then. Thank you so much for reading A Handful of Snakes! The sequel is coming, hopefully starting this winter. If you have any questions concerning that or this work, feel free to message me on Tumblr! My handle on there is welcometothefrogparade.


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